“The Exoxins are very…” Coran purses his lips, searching for the word. “Particular, let’s say.”
Hunk cocks his head. “In what way?”
“They’re quite fixated on personal appearances. They have been known to refuse alliances in the past when diplomats don’t meet their… aesthetic expectations.”
Before Keith can make a slightly mean joke about keeping Shiro on the castle, then (it’s been too long since he has been humbled), Lance snorts. Without bothering to look up from his doodling, half slumped over his station on the bridge, he says, “Well, we better send Keefers. Only way we’ll get a guaranteed alliance.”
“Okay, asshole, real funn — wait.” Keith blinks. That’s not the insult he thought it was. “Did you just — are you flirting with me?”
Lance flicks brown eyes up to meet his, eyebrows raised, amused smirk on his face. “Have been for a year now, thanks for noticing.”
Keith’s jaw drops. He feels a blush climbing up his neck like he’s a fuckin’ kettle, boiling from the bottom up, because what.
“What.”
“Keith.” The rampant redness on Keith’s face must give Lance pause, because he finally turns his whole attention towards him, straightening up from his seat and facing him head on. “I thought you were just ignoring me. You’re telling me your dumb ass has just been — what, completely oblivious to it?”
“I’m not obvious,” Keith argues, strained. He’s well aware of the snickering behind him and chooses to ignore it. “Usually your flirting is horrible and obnoxious and gets you rightfully punched, so excuse me for not noticing.” He waits a beat, and then tacks on, “Or tied to a tree.”
He’s gratified to see Lance’s smug demeanour crack at the mention of the Nyma incident.
“That was four years ago, dipstick. I was seventeen. It doesn’t take away from the fact that you are so thick headed that you are incapable of taking a hint. Did you think I kept finding reasons to be shirtless around you for fun?”
Keith sputters. He had noticed that Lance was shirtless around him an awful lot, but in his defence he was putting his braincells more towards memorizing a broad back and a glittering belly piercing rather than, like, puzzling out why the fuck Lance wasn’t wearing a shirt.
“I thought you were — hot, or something!”
Lance grins wolfishly. “You think I’m hot?”
“Go fuck yourself!”
“Is that what you want to see?”
Keith makes a hoarse screeching noise in the back of his throat. It is echoed behind him, by all of his friends, actually, but for entirely different reasons, and he hates them all and they are all written out of his will.
Lance slowly stands from his seat, soundlessly stalking over to where Keith stands, leaning against a wall. Keith considers braining himself against a hard surface so he does not half to deal with Lance stupid sexy leer and sparkling eyes et cetera.
“‘Cause if it is,” Lance murmurs, placing a hand next to Keith’s head and leaning in close, “all you had to do was ask, baby.”
“I am going to kill you with fire,” Keith croaks.
Lance chuckles. “Sure, caliente.” He kisses Keith’s cheek and saunters back to his chair. Keith considers asking his lions to help him change his bayard into an anvil and chucking it at Lance’s face. It does not help his situation.
“Well,” Coran says awkwardly, after what can only be several minutes of charged silence. “the good news is that if we send you both that alliance is as good as guaranteed.”
Keith’s eyes are back on him the second he knows Lance isn’t looking anymore and God — he laughs again, and Keith can’t help but stare. Lance’s cheeks are flushed from drinking, freckles peppered over a canvas of pink as his cheeks dimple around a smile. His hair is mused and messy from the heat, from running his fingers through it, and small strands are beginning to curl at the back of his neck.
Keith doesn’t know if it’s the whisky, but he really wants to kiss him (well, he knows it’s not the whisky. But the whisky definitely isn’t helping). He really wants to kiss him. And he knows that he shouldn’t want to, but fuck if it doesn’t stop him from wanting.
Read the full piece below the bar, or @/sleapea on ao3 or instagram ✨
The party is loud. Too loud, he thinks. Too loud, and full of too many people. It’s making his head spin.
He really hadn’t wanted to come, if he’s being honest. He takes a sip of his drink, leans against the kitchen counter, and wonders, for a moment, why on Earth he’s here?
That’s when he looks up, and he sees him.
From where he leans against the kitchen counter, he can see Lance in the other room. He has his arm slung over Pidge’s shoulder, and it looks like they’re talking to a group of classmates. Pidge huffs up at him, but he pretends not to notice. Then, he laughs, big and open and easy, at something someone in the group says. It looks like he’s having fun.
Lance looks up. He doesn’t see him right away, but when he does, their eyes lock. Lance looks away fast, as if he hadn’t seen him. Keith shrugs, turning away his gaze. A few moments later, he can feel Lance’s eyes back on him, and he grins. Mostly, because he can’t help it. A little bit, because he knows it’ll get to Lance.
Keith’s eyes are back on him the second he knows Lance isn’t looking anymore and God — he laughs again, and Keith can’t help but stare. Lance’s cheeks are flushed from drinking, freckles peppered over a canvas of pink as his cheeks dimple around a smile. His hair is mused and messy from the heat, from running his fingers through it, and small strands are beginning to curl at the back of his neck.
Keith doesn’t know if it’s the whisky, but he really wants to kiss him (well, he knows it’s not the whisky. But the whisky definitely isn’t helping). He really wants to kiss him. And he knows that he shouldn’t want to, but fuck if it doesn’t stop him from wanting.
Lance meets his eyes again, and this time, Keith knows it was on purpose. He wants to kiss the freckle that sits at the edge of his smile.
He watches as Lances eases himself from his friend group, ruffles Pidge’s hair. He wants to trace the outline of his cupids bow, run his thumb over his lower lip.
He watches as he makes his way over, through the crowd in the next room. He wants to tilt his chin up slow, breathe him in —
Lance comes up beside him, breaking his daydream. He leans against the counter next to him, red solo cup in hand, before turning to him and grinning.
“Whatcha doing over here, all on your lonesome?” He drawls, head tilting in his direction.
Maybe it’s the whisky, but Keith feels like he takes his time looking him over. His t-shirt is loose enough to reveal the slimmest bit of collarbone when he shifts to face him, and Keith swallows.
“Nothing,” he says, voice rough. He wishes he had the control that Lance did, the ability to coat his voice in sugar and let it pour sweet like honey. But he doesn’t, and instead, it grates between them like sandpaper. Lance raises an eyebrow.
“It looks like you’re brooding,” he says, taking a sip from his cup. His lips are stained red from whatever he’s drinking. “You should come join the rest of us.” But Keith doesn’t want to join the rest of them. Actually, he’s happy just like this, with Lance next to him. He wants him to stay, wants to keep talking to him, wants to —
“Do you want to try this?” Lance says, eyes lighting up as he lowers his cup from his lips. “Hunk made it for me, it’s really good! I forget what he called it… but it’s definitely better than whatever you’re drinking.” He snorts, something he only does after a few drinks, laughing at his own joke. Keith doesn’t want to find it endearing, but he does.
“Yeah,” he turns to face him, voice low. “Can I?”
Lance grins, holds his cup out to him. And, it’s definitely the whisky… but Keith grabs his wrist instead, pulls him closer. Leans in and captures Lance’s mouth in one, fluid motion. Lance tenses at first, but he doesn’t pull away. Keith draws back slowly, contemplating.
“Cranberry,” he whispers, “It tastes like cranberries.” Lance flushes a deep pink, and Keith realizes what he’s done.
“O-oh,” Lance stutters, clearly taken aback “Is that what it is…” He averts his eyes, blush reaching his ears.
“Shit.” Eloquence is not his strong suit. “I’m so sorry Lance, I don’t… I shouldn’t have done that.” He releases Lance’s wrist, and Lance draws it back, sets his drink down on the counter.
“Hmm…” Lance hums, slowly shifting his eyes back to meet Keith’s. “You’re right… you shouldn’t have done that.” His tone is even, and Keith deflates.
“You totally ruined the moment when you apologized. Shouldn’t have done it.” He continues after a long pause, almost casually. But there’s a playful lilt to his voice. “It was really smooth until then… I was practically swooning.” And Keith gapes.
“Do you remember,” Lance muses after a few moments, voice quiet as a smile toys at his lips. “When I said that you were probably drinking something terrible?”
“Well, you didn’t say it like that, but —”
“It wasn’t that bad.” He cuts him off, takes a step closer to him. Rests his hand tentatively on the counter next to Keith’s hip. “I would hazard to say, I kind of liked it…”
Before he can continue, Keith’s already diving back in, slotting their lips together. Lance laughs into him, against him, and the sweet taste of cranberries fills his mouth. The room is hot — so is their skin, and so is their breath, but it doesn’t stop Keith from lifting his hand to cup his jaw, tilt him closer. When they part, he pulls back enough to let a thumb trace along the curve of his lip. It’s soft, and his heart skips.
“God,” Keith laughs, low and clumsy, nerves finally bubbling to the surface. “You scared me for a second.”
“Good.” Lance shrugs, leaning away from him. He takes another sip of his drink without breaking their eyes. “It’s your punishment for taking so long.” He’s smiling again, but this time, coy. Keith’s not sure what kind of expression he’s making, but Lance takes one look at it and laughs. He picks up his drink with one hand, and takes Keith’s hand in the other.
“Come on, let’s go. Shiro wants to see you.” He coaxes, guiding Keith into the crowd in the next room. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, Hunk will make you one of these.” He lifts his drink, winks, and then turns to begin making his way back through the crowd with Keith in tow.
“I think I like yours better,” he whispers. Lance squeezes his hand, and from above the music and chatter, he can still hear the laugh that escapes him.
For the first time in his life, Keith thanks the whisky.
Thank you @immafiringmylazor for commissioning me with such a fun little idea!
I had so much fun drawing Lance in the ‘I totally didn’t just kill my husband’ robe! No one models it better ;)
*Bonus*:
Interested in commissioning me? Send me a message! I should have my pricing page up soon for both my art and writing, but I’m willing to negotiate till it is finalized!
@toto-the-cactus requested: Pidge x Lance. I found the reaction of Lance when Pidge admitted to be a girl really funny. You know, because he is such a flirt and all that.
aka, Lance flirts with Pidge to see if she truly is a girl (because obviously, all girls swoon at his flirtations, so that’s the only logical way to prove it)
(read below the cut)
Pidge was a girl?! Seriously?!
Lance had seen all kinds of women, but Pidge definitely did not fit any of the stereotypical female traits. In fact, he still doubted the green paladin’s supposed gender. The rest of the team accepted her confession with ease, but Lance had to investigate further.
If there was one thing Lance knew about women, it was that they were all susceptible to his flirtations. No girl could ignore his handsome face flirting with her. Ergo, to prove that Pidge truly was a girl, Lance took things into his own hands.
It was early morning when Pidge walked out of her room, Lance leaning off the hallway wall and shooting finger guns immediately. “Aye gurl, if you were a laser gun, you’d be set on stunning.” Coupled with his signature grin and wink, there was no way Pidge wouldn’t blush.
The green paladin, however, gave him blank stare before raising a brow. “Lance, what are you doing?”
Lance’s shoulders drooped, dejected. “I’m trying to prove you’re really a girl.”
“And bad pick-up lines prove this because…?”
“Because no girl can resist my charm,” he ran a hand through his hair, hoping to look dreamy.
Pidge sighed, leaning against the doorway of her room. “Try again. This will be fun to see,” she smirked slightly, entertained at the thought of Lance making a fool of himself.
“Uhhh,” Lance grappled for any other pick-up lines he knew before snapping his fingers, “Girl, are those space pants? Cause your ass is out of this world!”
Pidge tried not to laugh, “Yes, they are. And yes, technically my ass is, since we’re not on Earth.”
Okay… so that didn’t work. What else did Pidge like? Right! Star Wars! He sauntered up to Pidge, taking her hand and smirking, “You stole my heart like the rebellion stole the Death Star plans.”
Pidge raised a brow at that one, impressed, but still unfazed. “Okay, that was better. Try again.”
Shit if that didn’t work either, then… Lance pressed a hand against the wall next to her, leaning in closer and emphasizing their height difference. His eyes softened as he gazed into hers and whispered, “The stars seem dull when I look at you, because they can’t compare to the glimmer of your eyes in the moonlight.”
Pidge’s eyes widened, and her face flushed red. That was… so romantic. She had no clue Lance could speak in such a passionate manner.
As soon as Lance noticed her blush, he grinned cockily and the spell broke. He pushed off the wall and shot his fist up in the air, cheering. “Okay, I won! Also, this confirms that you’re a girl for sure. After all, no female can resist this handsome guy.” He stoked his own ego, pointing his thumbs at himself with a smirk.
Pidge watched the back of his figure trail down the hallway, snapping out of her daze and yelling after him, “Or you could’ve just taken my word for it, you jerk!” He waved her off though, and she let out an annoyed huff, before walking towards the dining hall.
She never knew Lance could act like that. And the way she reacted… what was that? Pidge shook her head and patted her cheeks, hoping to stop the blushing. Whatever, Lance would always be… Lance.
OK but why does everyone fanon Keith to be all shy and blustering when Lance flirts with him??? You guys, if Lance ever gave Keith the green light - Keith the temperamental, impulsive, extremely extra paladin who is completely in love with Lance - he'd fucking get that eye candy off the store shelves so fast those slutty alien chicks wouldn't know what hit them. My point is- Keith wouldn't hesitate at all if Lance ever gave a slight form of interest towards him.
Keith’s voice right next to his ear startles Lance a bit, making Keith laugh quietly. Lance feels the rumble of it in his shoulder, where Keith is resting his head to peer at his work.
“My math homework.”
Lance feels rather than sees Keith make a face. “That’s not math. I don’t see a single number in all that. I don’t even see letters.”
Lance chuckles. “It’s just calculus, babe. It’s mostly symbols, sure, but still math.”
“Ugh.” Keith pulls away after pressing a kiss to Lance’s cheek, shaking his head. “That’s disgusting.” He starts haphazardly shoving his fancy pencils into their case, then into his backpack, followed by his sketchbook. “Your horrible homework made me lose my desire to do anything and everything school related.”
Shaking his head fondly, Lance returns his gaze to his worksheet. “You’re such a dork. It’s only math.”
“The fact that you can look at those equations and they not only mean something to you, but they make sense, blows my mind every day. I’m still half convinced you’re a witch.”
“Now is that the math, or the fact that I’ve put a spell on your heart?”
“Boo,” Keith says, cupping his hands around his mouth. “That was garbage. I’m reporting you to the horrible pun police.”
“Stop making me laugh,” Lance says, throwing an eraser at Keith’s head. “You’re distracting me.”
“Yeah, yeah, Doctor McClain. You could skip every single one of your lectures and still pass with a 95.”
Lance flushes, pleased by both the compliment and Keith calling him doctor. As much as he knows Keith is teasing — he absolutely does need to attend class, Lord above — his boyfriend’s faith in him always makes his insides all soft and squishy.
But he has an assignment to do. He’ll kiss his amazingly supportive boyfriend after.
Lance gets in the zone, so focused on problem after problem that he forgets where he is. Hell, he pretty much forgets that he has a mortal body. His brain is 100% Greek letters and the occasional graph. And Lance likes it that way. He likes math, and not in the cheesy Cady Heron ‘math is just the same in every language’ kind of way. He just thinks that so long as he’s doing it right, figuring out puzzles is fun, in the same way some people like writing, or drawing. There are annoying parts, sure — modular functions are stupid as hell and can kiss his whole ass — but for the most part, he’s a biomed engineering major for a reason. He has shit to design, and he’s only getting there if he understands how the world fits together.
Something small hitting him square in the head snaps him out of his focus.
“You are being absorbed into your textbook,” Keith informs him. “I’m losing ya, space cadet.”
Lance shakes his head a little, blinking. He realises suddenly that, holy shit, his eyes are burning. And his throat is as dry as the desert. And he’s starving. And his muscles are cramped.
“Jesus,” he says, “how long have I been sitting here?”
Keith shrugs, but his attention is no longer on Lance. “Dunno. My phone died forever ago, so that means either two minutes or two hours. I could not tell you.”
Lance snorts. He knows part of Keith’s ADHD means he’s not great with time. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. They’ve been here long enough that it’s long past time to take a break.
“What’ve you been doing, then?” Lance asks as he starts collecting his things to put away. “If your phone’s been dead.”
“Foldin’ stuff,” Keith replies absent-mindedly, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he does, indeed, fold some papers. Lance finally gets all his stuff packed away and then turns his full attention to Keith, humming curiously. Keith, like with everything artsy, is amazing at origami, and Lance is always amazed at how he takes a piece of scrap paper and makes a mini-sculpture.
“Like what?”
“Made you this bouquet,” Keith says. His attention is still mostly on the tiny square of pink paper in front of him, but he reaches over to the empty chair next to him and blindly searches for something. He makes a triumphant noise when he finds it, and sets a brightly coloured bouquet of intricately folded paper flowers on the table.
Lance gasps, carefully picking it up and looking at it closely. Each flower is folded to perfection, crisp lines and gentle bends in the paper making perfect imitations of Lance’s favourite flowers: golden dandelions, pink peonies, deep orange poppies.
“Holy shit, Keith,” Lance breathes. He looks at his boyfriend with wide eyes. “This is… these are gorgeous!”
Keith glances away from his project for a moment to shoot Lance a big, goofy grin. “Glad you like ‘em. They’re almost as pretty as you.”
“Charmer,” Lance says, rolling his eyes, but the ruddiness of his cheeks give him away. Keith knows it, too, grinning wider.
“This is for you, too,” he says, making a final fold on the pink paper. “Hold out your left hand.”
Lance does, stupidly giddy smile making his cheeks ache.
Keith has made a paper ring, folded so it makes a heart in the centre rather than a traditional circle-shaped knob. It’s as meticulously crafted as the bouquet. He slides it up Lance’s fourth finger, then presses a gentle kiss on the knuckle.
“Since you said we can’t get married until after we finish our undergrads,” Keith says, as playfully grouchy as he always is when he brings the subject up. “This will have to do.”
Lance laughs, sliding his hand from Keith’s grip so he can rest it on the side of his boyfriend’s cheek, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Keith goes cross-eyed trying to watch the movement, lips still pouted. Lance leans forward to kiss them.
“You are so dramatic,” he mumbles, still crowded in close. “One more year, okay? You can take me to the courthouse the day we graduate, if you would like.”
“Fine,” Keith huffs. He wraps his arms around Lance’s waist. “They second our caps get thrown, you hear me?”
Lance kisses him again. And again. And a third time, for good measure.
