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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years

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Is It The Look In Your Eyes (Or Is It This Dancing Juice)

Keith/Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Humour, Getting Together, 6.2k Words

Summary: Love sorta sneaks up on Keith. But he can’t say he’s not happy about it.

part one part two

---

Keith has never read The Fault In Our Stars, but Lance has. Keith’s seen the movie, though — Lance picked it once for movie night (which in itself was a feat. He hadn’t brought any movies to space, and Pidge sure as shit hadn’t had that downloaded on her laptop. And it’s not like they managed a quick stop by Earth to stock up on entertainment or anything. No one quite knows how Lance procured the movie, and wisely no one has ever asked).

He’d been all swoony during the whole movie, staring moon-eyed at Augustus Waters and reciting the damn film by heart. He’d sighed particularly dreamily when Hazel Grace narrated that one line about falling in love: “I fell in love the way you fall asleep — slowly, then all at once.”

At the time, Keith had rolled his eyes, teasing Lance along with everyone else. Because he was young, and oblivious, and guarded, and didn’t yet realise. It took him several years to realise, in fact. But it was true, about love sneaking up on you the way the tendrils of sleep tended to: by the time Keith realised he loved Lance more than anything else in the world, he had already gone hurtling down the cliff, and knew that Lance would be there to catch him.

Keith’s never been a wonderful sleeper, but the lion exchange bullshit mixed with the stress of losing his brother again made sleeping nearly impossible. Six months of learning how to lead and desperately looking for Shiro had almost entirely destroyed his sleep schedule, if he ever had one to begin with.

On the bright side, there’s Lance. Whatever dynamic they have now, as the co-leaders of Voltron, is a million times better than what they had before (although Keith will be dead and buried before he stops competing with Lance and doing everything in his power to drive the Cuban up the wall. He might be relieved to be rid of any genuine animosity between them, but a Lance so close to losing his shit that every word is a carefully-controlled Shakespearean insult is a fun Lance to rile up). But their closeness now means Keith can’t quite get away with being a reckless dumbass as easily as he could a year ago.

“Hold it, pal,” Lance calls, stopping him (from where he was attempting to subtly power-walk away) with an arm around his bicep. As Keith turns to face him, Lance reaches up, brushing gentle fingers under Keith’s eyes. “You haven’t been sleeping again.”

Keith shrugs. “We have a lot of shit to do.”

“Not so much that you don’t have time for at least five hours a night.”

Keith has nothing to say to that, because Lance is right, and he won’t lie to him. Luckily, he doesn’t have to, because Lance sees right through him.

“You having nightmares again?” he asks softly.

If it was any other person asking, Keith would be up in arms. None of your business, he might snap. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself. I don’t need to be coddled.

But it’s not any other person, it’s Lance, and Lance has never been interested in coddling Keith or minding his business. So he just nods.

Lance hums, contemplative. His hand has not left Keith’s face, tracing featherlight lines under his eyes and around his cheeks. “Sleeping next to someone can help,” he suggests carefully.

Keith is shaking his head before he even finishes his sentence. “No, Lance, you’re a ridiculously light sleeper. I’d wake us both up, and then neither of us would get enough sleep.”

Lance rolls his eyes, flicking Keith hard on the forehead.

“Hey,” he exclaims, pouting. “That was mean.”

Lance rolls his eyes again, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “That’s the point, dumbass,” he chides. “I’ll wake up with you when you have a nightmare. Then you know you’re safe, and we can both go back to sleep. Me waking up to help you is part of the solution, dork.”

In all honesty, that sounds great. Once again, Lance has the solution when he’s stuck. But, you know. Keith hasn’t carefully built the reputation of being a contrary fucker just to have it fall apart because someone cups his face and talks to him gently. He has to put up a bit of a fight.

“I don’t want to put you out,” Keith argues halfheartedly.

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to.”

Keith knows that’s true. Nothing short of an actual nuclear bomb could make Lance go somewhere he doesn’t want to go or do something he has no interest in doing.

“...Yeah, okay,” Keith finally agrees, grabbing Lance’s hand and squeezing it once. “Thank you.”

Lance smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder before pulling him into his bedroom.

Keith watches with a soft smile as Lance buzzes around the room, meticulously going through the most detailed skincare routine in the world. Keith’s ready to hop into bed as soon as Lance has his pajamas on, but Lance is not so hasty.

“Where are your pajamas?” he questions, head tilted.

“I don’t have any,” Keith confesses.

“We’ve been in space for, like, two and a half years,” Lance says slowly, blinking at him. “What do you mean you don’t have pajamas?”

Keith shrugs. “I just sleep in my clothes.”

To say Lance looks revolted is an understatement. “Not in my bed,” he insists, nose wrinkled. “You may wear your nasty outside clothes in your bedsheets, but my bedsheets are pristine and I’d like to keep them that way, thank you very much. Here.” He tosses a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt at Keith, who isn’t prepared for it so they nail him right in the face, which makes Lance crack up.

“Jackass,” Keith mutters, but he’s not really mad. He puts on the clothes as Lance busies himself with arranging his two million pillows and stuffed animals so they both have space to sleep.

“Uh, Lance?”

Lance hums in acknowledgment, not looking up from his pillows.

“I, um. Don’t think the shirt fits super well.”

Lance turns to look at Keith and promptly bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard he goes silent, bent over at the waist with his arms clutched around his stomach.

Keith can’t help but chuckle a little as well, knowing full well he looks ridiculous. The shirt is Lance’s, so it’s way too small — it’s laughably tight around the shoulders, and the material is pulled so taut around his chest that it looks like it’s been painted on his skin. It’s also way too short — it’s basically a bra with sleeves. On top of that, the sweatpants are a tad too tight on his hips, but Lance’s legs are longer than his, so they’re all bunched up around his ankles.

It takes Lance several minutes to get ahold of himself — every time he stops laughing, he looks over at Keith and starts all over again. “I can see if I have one of Hunk’s shirts around here?“ he offers eventually, but Keith is already shaking his head. He shucks off the shirt, tossing it right back at Lance (and nailing him in the face this time, revenge) and shrugs. “I don’t need a shirt. I’ll just sleep like this.”

Lance looks away hastily, busying himself with refolding the shirt and putting it back in his dresser. The tips of his ears are red. “Uh, sure. Sounds good.”

After brushing their teeth (and making goofy, toothpaste-messy faces at each other in the mirror until Keith broke and laughed and subsequently choked), they finally make their way to bed. Lance crawls in first, burrowing himself in a pile of stuffies (only one of which Keith recognises – he and Lance went to a market a year or so ago, and one of the merchants had thrown out a product of theirs: a wonky little stuffed bear that looked like it had a giant bee sting on its face. They were on a mission, so they couldn’t really stop and get it and carry it around, but Lance had been so distraught about leaving the bear behind that Keith couldn’t help himself and went to go get it a few days later. He washed the ugly thing and left it on Lance’s bed for him to find. Lance had been so happy he couldn’t even speak, just crying and stimming all over the place. He’d hugged Keith so hard Keith felt his spine rearrange. It’s the best gift Keith’s ever given to date).

Keith crawls in after him, lying flat on his back with his hands behind his head.

“You sleep like an inmate,” Lance teases. “One pillow, flat on your back, legs straight out – that cannot be comfy.”

Keith scowls, grabbing a tiny little pink pillow from Lance’s nest and whacking him in the head with it repeatedly. “I sleep like a normal person,” he grouches.

“Hey! Cut it out, you fiend!” Lance exclaims, but he’s giggling. “Put your weapons away.”

Keith whacks him one last time for good measure, but relents his assault. Lance’s giggles eventually subside, and after a near-silent ‘night, buddy’, Keith hears his breathing even out.

Keith turns on his side, facing Lance. He lets his eyes trace over his sleeping form: limbs sprawled in every direction, hair mussed and frizzy, drooling more than a bulldog. Keith smiles softly. He’s glad he has a friend like Lance.

—

He wakes up screaming Shiro’s name. His vision is blurry, he’s sweating, the only thing he can hear is the blood rushing through his ears. His chest is heaving, and he feels like his lungs have shrunk.

“– the room’s pretty dark right now, so I doubt you can see much, but if you squint a little you can see outlines of everything. Uh, it smells like strawberries in here ‘cus of my shampoo, I think. You can hear the castle humming and also you hyperventilating. Wait, shit, I probably shouldn’t mention that. Um, nevermind! Ignore that. The only sounds are the castle and me talking. And my nails. I’m clicking them, sorry, I know you hate that sound. Uh, maybe you can feel the blankets –”

Keith takes a deep breath, in and out, forcing himself to focus on Lance’s voice. It is dark in here. The room does smell like strawberries and sunshine – like Lance. The humming of the castle’s systems rings around the room, and against all odds, Keith’s lips quirk up: Lance’s faux-pas is right, Keith’s heavy breathing is the loudest sound in the room. After several minutes, Keith’s breathing starts to slow, and his vision clears. He sees Lance’s worried face in front of him, shroud in shadows.

“You with me?” Lance whispers.

“I’m with you,” Keith rasps.

Lance smiles, quickly, a flash of bright white in the black room. “Good. You wanna talk about it?”

Keith shakes his head. “I want to forget about it.”

“Okay,” Lance says softly. He leans back on his pillow pile, tugging Keith down with him until Keith’s laying with his head on Lance’s chest, right over his heart. Lance’s heart beats steadily in his ear, and it calms him. “Just listen to my voice, okay? You don’t need to respond, you don’t even need to pay attention. Just listen.”

Keith hums, and Lance runs his hands through Keith’s sweaty hair, fingers cool and gentle.

“This is my favourite book in the world, although I have never read it. How is such a thing possible? I’ll do my best to explain. As a child, I…”

Lance’s voice is smooth, melodic and soothing as he recites the story. Keith doesn’t know what the story is, but it doesn’t matter. The sound of Lance’s voice combined with his careful hands scratching Keith’s scalp and his steady heartbeat pounding in his ears chase away the sounds and sights of his nightmare, replacing it with the heady feeling of love and care. Within minutes, faster than he’s ever recovered from a nightmare, Keith is drifting away, Lance’s voice and hands and care the only thing on his mind.

“Are you enjoying your little emo corner, Gerard Way?”

Keith scowls, elbowing his annoying older brother in the side. He can’t believe he spent time and energy missing this fool.

“I can’t believe I spent like eight months worrying about you,” he deadpans.

Shiro smirks, smug and unbothered because he’s a jackass. Ever since he popped out of Black’s astral realm and announced he was retiring for eternity, he’s returned to the annoying, pot-stirring butthead he was before the Kerberos mission.

Unfortunately, Keith is ridiculously happy about it.

“I’m just sayin’,” Shiro says, eyes wide and innocent even though he’s everything but, “everyone else is having a good time dancing or messing around, and you’re grouching in a corner. Even Pidge is enjoying herself.”

Keith raises a brow, inclining his head towards where Pidge is standing a few feet behind a couple, not even pretending she isn’t recording. “Pidge is enjoying herself entirely because she’s following Matt around as he makes a fool of himself in front of pretty people.”

“Eh, semantics. A good time is a good time. Besides, watching Matt trip and fall and accidentally pants that rich guy he was attempting to seduce was genuinely the highlight of my week. I’m glad Pidge caught that on camera, I’m gonna show it to Dr. Holt the day we get back to Earth. Just in case she thought her son was doing something heroic or something.”

Keith snorts. That was pretty funny, he’ll admit.

“Yeah, I’ve been watching Matt a little too. But you know me. I’m not big on dancing or shit like that. I like my little emo corner, thank you very much. It’s right next to the snack table.”

“Matt’s not the only person you’ve been watching,” Shiro mutters into his cup.

Keith frowns at him. “What are you talking abo–”

“Keith!”

Lance comes bounding up to them, face flushed and grin wide. “Shiro! Hi!”

Both brothers turn to him immediately, smiling. Lance’s joy is radiating off of him – he loves these kinds of things. Parties, dancing, the whole shebang – it’s right up Lance’s alley. Keith knows he’s extra excited about tonight’s gala because he got to make and design his own dress. He looks excellent, too – the dress is a gorgeous sage green colour (Lance rolled his eyes and muttered something about ‘dumbass boys’ when Keith called it ‘green’, so he knows to specify the colour now even if he can’t see the difference), floor-length and deep cut with a slit up the thigh. He’s put in a bunch of gold earrings and piercings, and has some of Allura’s bangles up his arms and around his wrists. Keith knows Lance can’t wear makeup because he can’t stand the feeling of it on his face, but he notices a shine on his lips. He must be wearing lipgloss. Keith idly wonders what kind.

In Keith’s totally unbiased opinion, Lance outshines every other person in the room.

“Hey, Lance,” Shiro greets, ruffling his hair, which makes Lance shriek and duck behind Keith.

“Aw, Shiro, c’mon! I spent forever on my hair, don’t mess it up!”

Shiro grins mischievously, clearly intending to do the exact opposite, but before he has the chance Keith sees Lance’s bayard take form out of the corner of his eye, resting over Keith’s shoulder. He doesn’t bother hiding a smirk. He’s sure as shit not gonna bail his brother out of this one, no sirree. He’s been at the business end of Lance’s bayard before (steal the last of Hunk’s space garlic knots and you will regret being born), and stun-mode or not, he’s not going through that shit again.

“I’ll fuckin’ shoot you, Shiro, I swear to God. Two fucking hours on this hair. Do not try me.”

Shiro wisely chooses not to call Lance’s bluff, holding his hands up placatingly and taking a wide step back.

“Okay, yikes, no touching the hair. Got it.”

Satisfied that Shiro has the appropriate amount of fear in him, Lance deactivates his bayard, stepping out from behind Keith.

“Now that that’s settled,” he says magnanimously, “I came here for a reason! One of you come dance with me instead of talking like boring people in the emo corner!”

Shiro shrugs, stepping towards Lance and offering a hand. “Well, we both know Keith doesn’t dance, so I’d be happy to spin you around,” he offers.

Lance grins, reaching out to grab Shiro’s outstretched arm, but for some reason, Keith feels something hot and a little angry burning up his throat. He bats Shiro’s hand away. “I never said that,” he injects gruffly. “I love dancing. Let’s go, Lance.”

He laces their fingers together and tugs Lance towards the vast marble floors, where groups and couples are twirling about to upbeat, fiddle-like music. He’s so eager to leave that he misses Lance’s apologetic shrug. He also misses Shiro’s knowing smirk and wink, and Lance’s subsequent flush.

They start to move as soon as they’re swallowed up by the crowd: Lance leads the first dance, a quick-beated sort of waltz that takes them around the whole ballroom. Keith kind of stumbles through it, but it’s not too hard because Lance is experienced enough for the both of them. The next dance, though, is a little simpler, so Keith insists he knows how to lead that one.

Keith is a liar. He does not know what he’s doing, and he must step on Lance’s toes three hundred times, but Lance pinches him every time he does so they’re even. It’s strange – usually Keith really does hate dancing. But it turns out he doesn’t mind so much when he’s dancing with Lance. It must be better when he’s with someone he trusts.

They spin so much Keith gets a little dizzy, and at one point Lance even dips him, which makes them both laugh. It turns into a dipping competition, where each of them tries to dip the other when they least expect it. So far Keith is in the lead. They never once let go of each other for the whole night, not to switch partners or grab a drink or take a break or anything. Lance has his fingers tangled with Keith for every second.

As they enter the castle, hours later, Lance runs up ahead to Coran, gesturing excitedly. Keith can’t hear him, but he can wager a guess (Lance and Coran always get worked up about foreign music, and the music on that planet was nothing like they’d ever heard before).

Unfortunately – not really unfortunately, but Keith is allowed to complain in his own damn head, that’s his duty as a younger brother – Shiro strolls up next to him, an infuriatingly knowing smirk on his face. It’s extra annoying because Keith doesn’t know what he’s so smug about.

“So much for hating dancing,” he teases.

Keith doesn’t hesitate to shove him. “It’s different,” he protests. “Lance looked so excited about it. What was I gonna do, say no?”

“I mean, he asked me, too,” Shiro points out. “But you seemed to have an issue with that.”

That shuts Keith up, because he’s honestly not sure why he was so adamantly against that. Why he wanted to be the one to dance with Lance so badly.

“Maybe I was just wrong. Maybe I secretly like dancing.” As Keith says it, he knows he’s lying. He’s not sure what the truth is, though.

Shiro shrugs. “Maybe! We’ll have to see. It’s getting kind of late, though. You should probably head to bed.”

“Yeah, okay,” Keith agrees. “As soon as Lance is done geeking out with Coran.”

Shiro stops walking, squinting at Keith. “Why do you need to wait for Lance?”

Keith huffs a laugh. “Last time I went to bed before him, I was rudely awoken by his freezing cold hands being shoved under my shirt, because he’s a little shit. I’m never going through a repeat of that. It felt like I was being dunked in the fuckin’ arctic ocean.”

Shiro’s eyes climb up closer to his hairline with every word Keith speaks. “You and Lance sleep together?”

Keith gives him a weird look. “Uh, yeah.” Why is the fool acting like this is news?

“I’m walking away now before I say something I regret,” Shiro announces after several moments of incredulous silence. “Goodnight, you walking disaster.”

“Goodnight? You weirdo?”

Shiro walks away without saying anything further. Keith looks after him, bewildered, but eventually shrugs and heads back to his and Lance’s room.

Man, his brother is weird.

Keith can’t imagine what his face looks like right now, but it must be pretty ticked, because everyone gives him a wide berth. He storms down the hallways, speeding around corners, straight to Lance’s room (well, now it’s more of ‘their’ room than anything. Keith hasn’t slept in his own room in almost a year).

Someone must have messaged Lance, because the door opens before he can even knock. Lance takes one look at his face before he grabs his bayard, closes the door, and drags Keith down to the training room.

“Let’s go destroy some stuff.”

Lance calls out for level sixty-three the second they enter the room, not even giving them a moment to breathe. Some of the anger in Keith’s chest loosens. No one has ever known Keith as intricately as Lance. It’s hard to hold on to his rage when he remembers that.

Fourteen Gladiator bots fall from the sky, weapons raised, and Lance turns to him with a grin. “Ready to set a new record, Samurai?”

Keith grins back, wolfish and cocky. “Let’s fuck ‘em up, Sharpshooter.”

Keith extends his knife, charging forward to meet three of the bots head-on. He hears the sharp sounds of Lance’s blaster, letting loose a barrage of shots that knock out five of the Gladiators in less than a second. Within minutes, all fourteen bots are finished – either a neat hole through their heads or slashed to pieces. The training sim doesn’t give them any time to recuperate, starting a new level with more bots and less time to kill them.

They fight like that for who knows how long, constantly covering each other’s blindspots and pulling off intricate ninja manoeuvres, as Lance would say. At one point, Lance switches to his broadsword, and the two fight a ring of advancing bots back to back. Lance has the good grace to only make one comment about how disgustingly sweaty Keith is (‘You’re also disgustingly sweaty, Lance.’ ‘Yeah, but your sweat’s grosser.’).

“Level 107 cleared,” comes the pleasant robotic voice from the ceiling.

Lance lets out a small cheer from where he’s lying spread-eagled on the floor. “Hell yeah! We’re badasses!”

Keith’s lips quirk up, and he makes his way over to lay next to Lance.

“Continue to level 108?” asks the voice.

Lance glances over at Keith, eyebrows raised in a silent question. Keith shakes his head. He’s feeling a lot better.

“No thank you, Space Siri! Shut ‘er down!” Lance calls.

Keith snorts. “Dork.”

Lance sticks his tongue out at him, and the two take a moment to catch their breath, rubbing out sore muscles and stretching stiff joints. Heaving a sigh, Lance drags himself up and walks off. A couple minutes later, Lance looms over Keith, one arm outstretched, the other holding two water pouches.

“Up you get, lazy bones. We’re gonna hydrate and talk shit about whoever pissed you off, like bad bitches.”

Keith scowls at the thought of his earlier predicament, grabbing Lance’s hand and yanking himself up.

“Oh, yikes,” Lance comments, eyebrows raised. “Right back to the grumpy Keith expression. They must’ve done some damage.”

“You can’t even imagine,” Keith says darkly, following him to the bleacher-like benches. They sit facing each other, Keith straddling the bench and Lance sitting criss-cross-applesauce like he always does. Despite his annoyance, it makes Keith smile a little.

“Okay, bud, spill the tea. What happened?”

Well-accustomed to their bitching sessions (there were several of them when they were figuring out how to lead together, once they realised it was way more fun to talk shit about other people than each other), Keith takes a long sip of his water before setting the pouch down, cracking his knuckles, and jumping right in.

“Okay. So, first red flag – not a welcoming bunch. And, like, it’s not like I need a fucking banner and grand announcement as I walk in, we’re not gods, but they acted like I was the one who was lucky to be there. Like, fucking pardon? Who saved whose ass again?”

“Damn, for real? That’s fucking annoying.”

“I know! But I was willing to put it aside for the Coalition. Yes, they were super annoying and entitled, but they had those supplies, so I figured I’d live with it. But then the fucking blatant insults started.”

Lance winces. “Oh, no.”

“Yeah. They started going in on Kolivan and the Blade, which. It’s shitty, yeah, but I’m kind of over fighting that particular battle. I get it. But then they started to go for Pidge and Allura. All sorts of vile shit about women and their ability to lead and fight. It was disgusting.”

Lance’s face turns hard. “Oh, fuck them. That’s fucking ridiculous. The person who helped us the most from their planet was a woman! Sexist ass shitheads.”

“Yup. Then they had some shit to say about Coran going senile. And Hunk being a coward and ‘unfit for a Paladin’. It was so fucking horrible. They started talking smack about Shiro’s mental state, and that’s when I knew I was done with those shit-for-brains. I have zero desire to work with people like that. I mean, it’s as if Shiro wasn’t the one to directly save the life of their president! Fucking revolting.”

“God, ew. Every type of shitty.”

“And I haven’t even told you the worst part!”

“No. No way! There’s worse?”

“Yeah! They sucked up to me! As if insulting every single member of my family was some kind of compliment to me in comparison!” His voice turns high and snooty, mocking: “‘Oh, but not you, Oh Great Black Paladin. You are of utmost health and intelligence, of strength and fit power! A true man of men.’ God, I’m so glad I punched him.”

“Keith.”

Keith winces. Oops. He didn’t mean to let that little tidbit through. In all honesty, Lance would have probably found out anyway, but. Still.

“Uh, I mean, that’s why I walked away from the situation. Calmly. And told them they weren’t welcome to join the Coalition until they checked their attitude.”

“Keith,” Lance repeats, eyebrow raised. “You punched him? The president guy?”

Keith sighs, avoiding Lance’s eyes. “Yeah, I punched the guy. He made one comment too many and I couldn’t stay down.”

Keith chances a glance in Lance’s direction and is relieved to find him sympathetic instead of angry.

“God, that Shiro comment probably got to you, huh?”

Keith hesitates. “Uh, yeah. Exactly. The Shiro comment. That was the one.”

“...Keith,” Lance deadpans, leveling him with a patented Lance Look of Judgement. “Please don’t lie to me. You’re bad at it and at this point it’s embarrassing.”

“They made. One more comment. That really made me mad.”

Lance furrows his brows, holding up his hands. “Pidge, Allura, Coran, Hunk, Shiro – oh, my comment.” He looks back up at Keith, eyes alight with a sort of mischief. “Ooooh, what did those shitheads have to say about me that snapped your control? I bet it was about that hit you deflected for me.”

Keith scowls fiercely. Just the thought of that president’s stupid smug face has his blood boiling.

“Lots of stupid, untrue shit about your use on the team. They don’t place much stock in snipers, or strategy. Think you’re a coward for ‘distancing yourself’ from the action.”

Keith is worried that this will set off Lance’s insecurities, but thankfully this doesn’t look to be the case. Lance rolls his eyes, looking exasperated.

“Yeah, no shit. I had to beg a bunch of them to use their fucking heads when we were fighting. Idiots. But hey,” he punches Keith gently on the arm, grinning a toothy smile that always makes Keith’s chest feel funny. “Thanks for defending my honour, milord.”

Keith smiles back, much softer than Lance but he can’t help it.

“Always, Lance. Always.”

“...right, Keith?”

Keith zones back into the conversation, seeing Lance looking at him expectantly, big brown eyes wide and imploring.

“Uh, right. Lance is right,” he says with what he hopes is authority.

Lance turns smugly to Hunk and Pidge, sticking out his tongue. “Ha!”

Team Punk rolls their eyes in tandem.

“You’re just agreeing because you weren’t paying attention and Lance batted his eyelashes at you,” she accuses.

“That’s not true! I was totally paying attention,” Keith lies. “I just agree with Lance.”

Hunk raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Mhm. You agree that some fashion trends, especially of the 80s hairstyle variety, should stay in the past?”

Keith’s face drops and he glares at Lance, who’s giggling at him and looking completely unapologetic. “Brat,” he hisses, pinching Lance in the ribs. Lance laughs hardly and shoves him away, not that it does much. Keith jabs him one more time, then he turns back around to face Pidge and Hunk, who do not look even a little bit convinced. “Yes,” he says through grit teeth, because he can’t very well go back now. “I completely agree that some hairstyles should be left in the past.”

“...Unbelievable,” Pidge says, shaking her head in mock-disgust.

“I am simply opinionated on this subject,” Keith insists, digging himself deeper into the hole. “He has you wrapped his little finger, dude,” Hunk points out. “Like, remember yesterday when you did the dishes for him because you wanted to let him keep having his conversation with Allura about Altean swimming competitions? Yeah. Point and point.”

Lance whips around to face Keith, jaw dropped. “What, is that true? I totally forgot about those dishes! Did you really do them for me?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, because there’s not much else he can do. He didn’t realise Hunk had noticed.

“I wouldn’t have been upset if you’d interrupted me, you know. I can talk to Allura whenever. You didn’t have to do that.”

Keith shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. But I like doing things for you.”

“Hey, do you know where Lance is?” Hunk asks, poking his head into the swords room.

“Reorganising the kitchen cabinets. He said the plate stacks were stressing him out,” Keith responds, not even looking up from where he’s polishing his blade.

“Cool, thanks.”

—

“I’m looking for Lance,” Allura announces as she pauses the training sim. Keith wipes his sweaty face on a towel, thinking for a moment.

“Oh, he’s helping Pidge re-pot one of her plants. They’re in the gardens, I think.”

Allura nods, thanking him, and then strides out. Keith starts the sim back up, ready to kick some more ass.

—

“Is Lance with you, Number Three?”

“No, you just missed him. He’s in the library, he just finished that Western trilogy.”

“Understood! Much appreciated!”

—

“Yo, loser. Where’s Lance?”

“In the pool. It’s quarter after, so he’ll be out in fifteen minutes if you want to wait for him at the bridge. That’s where he’s going next.”

“Dope. I have something I wanna test on him.”

—

“Keith!”

“Hey, Shiro. What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Lance.”

“He’s napping right now. Don’t wake him up, he had trouble sleeping last night.”

“Gotcha. Would you mind letting him know that I need his help with something?”

“Sure.”

—

“Where’s Lance?” Hunk questions, doing a quick headcount around the table.

Keith doesn’t answer, figuring someone else will, but looks up when he realises everyone is staring at him expectantly.

“What?”

“I asked where Lance was,” Hunk repeats.

“O-kay?” Keith asks. “You didn’t ask me, though. I dunno why everyone’s staring at me.”

“You’re usually the one who knows,” Pidge says. “And by usually I mean every single time.”

“Not every time,” Keith argues. “I’m sure there have been times when you’ve asked someone else.”

The rest of the team exchanges looks, shrugging and shaking their heads.

“No, not really,” Shiro dismisses. “If I need to find Lance, I go to you.”

“I don’t even look first,” Allura adds. “I’ve found it’s faster to just ask you directly, and vice versa. You two keep constant tabs on each other.”

“That’s not true,” Keith insists, but he’s starting to doubt himself.

“Do you know where he is now?” Coran asks, eyes a little mischievous.

Keith opens his mouth to deny it, but closes it again, because, well. He does know where Lance is.

“He’s with Red,” he admits reluctantly. “He said they were having –” he rolls his eyes, using air quotes – “a ‘bonding moment’, because heaven forbid we let that die.”

There are several snickers, and Pidge in particular looks very smug. “Told ya you always know where he is.”

Keith rolls his eyes, going back to his food, but his brain is whirring.

He does keep tabs on Lance, doesn’t he?

Keith is not a stupid man by any means. He’s a pilot, for Christ’s sake, so he has to have some brains. And he’s always kind of been a chemistry geek – his demolitions obsession had to come from somewhere.

Keith is, unfortunately, a little dense.

There’s no other way to explain it. He can definitely be a little obtuse. Because there’s no real reason for him to have gone on this long and not realised he has a thing for Lance.

Like, c’mon. They’ve been in space four years now, co-leading Voltorn together for half that time. And Keith – well. He’s always paid extra attention to Lance, hasn’t he? Lance may have been the one to start the rivalry, but Keith was an active participant, that’s for sure. He made certain he was spending time with Lance, even if he pretended it was malicious for a while. And as they mellowed out, grew closer, Keith fell for Lance. He fell hard. Honestly, he’s kind of embarrassed it took him so long to notice.

Everyone else seems to know. There’s a laundry list of reasons Keith should have noticed how much he loves the man. They’re completely associated with each other, for starters. It’s not ‘Keith’, not ‘Lance’ – it’s LanceandKeith, the duo. If you can’t find one, ask the other. There’s a good chance you’ll find them together, anyway.

And there’s the unwavering support. Keith and Lance still argue, sure. It’s fun and they enjoy it, and Keith’s said it before and he’ll say it again: a riled-up and fiery Lance is his favourite Lance (...one of his favourite Lances. Honestly, every Lance is kind of his favourite Lance). But the second there are other people around, if there’s a fight to be had, there’s no one Keith wants on his team quite like Lance. He’s his right-hand man, after all. They have each other’s back.

And God, Lance is his go-to person, isn’t he? Keith remembers Shiro telling him that he knew Adam was the one because Adam was his go-to person – the person he thought of first in any situation. When Keith’s angry, or overwhelmed, or frustrated, who does he go to but his best friend? Lance always knows what to do, how to handle it. He doesn’t even hesitate. It’s not even… Keith doesn’t even think about it. When he’s emotional, it’s like his brain sets an automatic route for Lance.

Keith thinks back to every time he felt a flutter in his chest when Lance smiled. Every time his face flushed when Lance said something flirty. Every time he felt the ugly green monster rear up, when he saw someone acting a little too comfortable with Lance, and didn’t know why.

God, he loves this man.

The best part is – he knows Lance loves him too. That’s not a worry. Because for every time he’s turned to Lance, for comfort, for a laugh, for help, for anything, Lance has turned to Keith just as often. They’re a team, the two of them. Lance and Keith, neck and neck.

Hand in hand.

They’re already kind of dating, too, aren’t they? They’ve never kissed. Hell, Keith didn’t know he was in love with Lance until about forty minutes ago. But they already spend most of their time together. They sleep in the same bed. Hell, the other day Lance popped a zit for him, which is objectively disgusting, and something Keith knows only people in a relationship really do.

So what does Keith do? He glares up at the ceiling, tightening his hold on Lance’s ankle. He flicks his gaze around to the rest of the team, all completely oblivious to the storm raging through Keith’s head. Honestly, they probably think he and Lance are already together. He wouldn’t be surprised. How does he make this jump? How does he tell Lance that yes, sorry for being a dumbass, he fully gets now that they’re basically a married couple and his brain has finally caught on?

Wait.

Keith sits straight up, knocking Lance’s legs from his lap. They’re already 90% there. What’s an extra step?

“Hey, Lance,” he says, squinting at him as the plan forms in his head.

“Marry me.”

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mothmanavenue · 7 months

Text

In conjuntion with this art piece here

...

The war doesn’t end with a crash or a bang. Nothing explodes in a fiery shower the way he’d read about in books as a kid. There's no rocking of the ground as the world shifts under their feet, and a curling anxiety in his gut as he desperately reaches out in the link for a glimmer of one just one of his teammates, his family, his lover.

There’s just the dead drop of a falling lion as a ceasefire is called. It’s just the feeling of his fingers relaxing from a white knuckled grip on Red’s controls and his head falling back with a dull thud against the headrest of the pilot’s chair. It’s the unwinding of his spine as he slumps, all his strength and exhaustion collapsing in on him as he surrenders flight back to his lion, her battle roar softening to a gentle rumble in the back of his mind. It’s the gasps of relief and whispered gratitude of his family echoing in his ears, letting him know they’re safe, they’ve made it, it’s finally done.

Keith is completely unsurprised to note which one he prefers.

Red’s purr is a constant source of comfort in his mind as he curls his legs toward his chest, eyes squinted in lazy, bone deep weariness, brain barely processing Shiro and Allura from their respective command stations outlining the conditions of ceasefire. He can barely think about anything outside the cramping in his fingers and the bleariness of his eyes from entire successive days spent raising Voltron’s sword, pouring his energy and willpower into convincing the strongest weapons in the universe to bend to his will.

It’s ok if he misses something. The team will catch him up. They always have, when the tiredness consumes him, and he checks out of conversations and discussion, slumping against the nearest comforting shoulder.

Allura’s voice is as sharp and clear as the crown that adorns her head; the queen of Altea in all her glory commands her troops from the midst of battle. Keith’s attention had been laser focused on ensuring Voltron’s continued presence, but nothing in the world could keep him from watching for Allura’s flashing blue light as she approached Haggar, now withered and raging, and knelt in front of her. Keith missed what was said, the words exchanged. But he saw the tightening of his Queen, his sister’s, shoulders, and the hand wrapping tight around the witch’s neck.

It’s been a long eight days on this earth of his.

His brain clocks out in that moment, and he rides the warm haze he’s in, letting the satisfaction of success settle into his bones. It’s not time for celebration just yet. It will come later once the dead is counted and the shrouds are laid. Keith knows better than most the toll of war, and he dreads the time that will come when the lists of the dead will be handed to them, and he will need hours, days, weeks, to grieve people he did and didn’t know and names he’s cherished and ones he’s never heard, and each loss will still hit like a blow to the ribs. After that, the celebration will come. The ballrooms of the castle will glow with life and Hunk will dress in gold, Shiro’s white hair will gleam in the light, and Pidge will protest that she just won a war, she deserves a drink. Allura will stand regal at their side, and her shoulders will be light, free from the burden of an avenger, and she will turn to them with a gleaming grin and they won’t have any choice but to smile back at her.

And lance.

Lance will be so handsome in his blue suit, golden and silver threaded in painstaking embroidery in the bed of deep sky. His hair will fall loose and natural in his eyes, heavenly blues, and earthy brown under the string set of his eyebrows, and he’ll gleam like a freshly lit candle.

He’ll take Keith’s breath away and Keith will never want it back.

But that comes after.

Right now, here, Red lands on dusty earth and grumbles in his head about doing all the work. He’s sure none of the other lions give their other halves this much shit. He loves her so fiercely it burns his throat and eyes. He can’t believe he ever spent a day outside of her. Can’t believe he wasn’t raised alongside this wonderful, temperamental, protective, grouchy cat, who bossed him and fussed him, and purred and cooed when he screamed in his dreams. Can’t believe there ever was a time he resigned himself to not having this. What a fool he was.

The wave of emotion fills the cockpit in a lilting hum, and she lights up around him, Voltron blue piercing through the chunks in his armour. Red is as alive as a blaze and warm as a hearth in his head.

Her mouth drops open with one final swell of affection, as she releases her paladin to his home ground.

Keith murmurs a breathy thank you i love you you’re everything to me, as he stumbles out, hand grasping the cool metal as he comes to a rest on the shifting sands. The sand is warm from fire and fighting and it hits him all at one.

He crouches down, head hanging as he pants and gasps for breath. The emotion of the past few days shutter his eyesight till all he sees in the grains of sand sticking to his gauntlets. His head spins and his hair is falling out of the ponytail he’d tied it back in, and his breath is coming hard now.

Something is missing. Somethings not quite right.

The swords have fallen, the helmets tossed to the side, red looms protective behind him. The shields are down the guards are dropped and he can feel the press of the Voltron bond that lets him know his team is landing nearby, drawn together with a gravitational pull.

He draws in breath, cool and refreshing and tinged with the scent of burning. Around him the sand is interspersed with freshly formed glass.

He raises his head, expecting to see the heavens above him. He wants to take in the freshly healed scar of the newly collapsed Rigel star system. Wants to know how the blazing lights of thousands of planets worth of warfare look set against the familiar earth sky. He think he might look at the constellations, like he did not far from here a hundred years ago, tucked into his dad's strong, solid arms, the scratch of a stubbly chin accompanying a moving mouth as it named Orion, Cassiopeia, Gemini.

He looks up expecting to see stars, and instead, he sees the sun.

Lance's smile is crooked, and his breath comes fast, like he ran, as he hovers over him. Their faces are so close he can count each individual freckle on this boy’s face, as precious to him as the gleam of moonlight cutting paths across the castle hallways. Oh this boy, this absolute death of him.

“Hey lover,” the words leave Lance’s mouth with ease and anticipation, years of pent-up adoration spilling out with every vowel, “we did it.”

Keith feels his own smile steal across his face, “yeah, we did.”

If possible, Lance's smile grows wider, crinkling the already forming smile lines at his eyes. Keith thinks of the products that line the counter of his bathroom sink, just waiting for a pretty bronzed hand to pick them up when the separation hits, and their resolves are softened by the press of late hours and long silence.

A silly waste. Keith likes this look on Lance.

Aging.

What a wonderful thing he never thought he’d get to have.

“You know what that means?”

Lance's voice is smooth, the tremble that only a practiced ear could pick out masked by the sincerity and anticipation that has dogged their every conversation since that night on the dais.

“We’ll wait.”

“Until when, Keith?”

“Until it’s done. When it’s done then we can have this. We can’t lose everyone for each other.”

“I’m yours?”

“When it’s done then. And when it’s done, I’m bringing you home with me. I’m putting a ring on your finger and I’m never letting you go. You’re it for me, Keith.”

“I’m not asking you to wait, that’s not fair-“

“I followed you into space Keith. I followed you to the point of no return. You aren’t asking me anything and that’s a damn shame. I’d give you anything you asked for.”

“When it’s done lance, when it’s done, I’ll ask you anything you want me to. I’ll come home with you, I’ll share a bed with you. I’ll be yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Don’t joke, honey,”

“I’m not. You’re mine, lance”

“And-“

“you’re mine.”

The words reverberate in his head, and oh. This is what it was. The smooth slot of this thing that’s been so long coming.

Lance drops to his knees in front of him, one warm hand coming to rest on his cheek. Keith leans his head into it. He’s too tired for restraint, or shame, or any other useless emotion that would’ve held a younger him back. He’s got nothing to lose. He’s won. There’s no reason left to hold back. What a novel idea. It coats him and leaves him shivering at the feel of a gloved thumb running gently over his cheekbones.

His eyes fall back open from their unconscious close, and Lance is so close.

Honest, sweet, honourable lance. The sandpaper to all his rough edges. The iron that absorbed his burning heat. The shore that meets his rocking tide.

Keith can hear the thunder of Pidge’s feet as they run across the uneven terrain. Hunk is following after her, his voice a cacophony of relief and joy. Shiro’s laughter is warm and thick as honey, coming easier than it has since aliens were a late-night story. Allura is giggling, high and bright, and a little hysterical. It’s ok. She’ll pull herself back together and they’ll be there to fill the cracks with liquid gold.

(Or glitter. She’d like glitter.)

Lance is watching him, and Keith’s eyes drift back to him. Lance hasn’t looked away in years. Something, some last resistance hidden away so deep he didn’t even know to search for a cure, falls away.

He leans in and closes the gap.

...

posted on ao3 here

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