trying a new way of uploading my writing...idk if i like it but we shall see! anyway check the notes of this post for a link to my ko-fi if u wanna support me/my work this december! :)
A short piece/long drabble for today’s Klance positivity week prompt! Hope you all enjoy :)
26 May prompt: Meet cute/Pining
It was too late to ask his name.
Keith knew it would be an issue the moment they were assigned partners for the presentation and he sat opposite Keith.
The Blue Guy. Storm cloud eyes, adorable marine themed backpack, and that one royal blue and white shirt he wore last week which stretched just perfectly-
Anyway. Blue Guy, with the same major as Keith; in three of his lectures and two of his seminars. He’d sat next to Keith on their first day of class and introduced himself; all smiles with perfect teeth, smelling of sunsets and honey, breezing into Keith’s life like the first chilly breath of air in Autumn.
So distractingly beautiful it sent Keith’s head spinning in a way he would have scoffed at before; rolled his eyes and judged because people didn’t actually feel like an Autumn breeze or make hearts flutter by existing.
But this guy did. And Keith was so incredibly flustered he’d immediately forgotten his name. Hadn’t even heard it, he was so swept up in his presence and charm. At the time, Keith assumed at some point he’d hear it again, be able to reintroduce himself as he wasn’t entirely sure he’d managed to say his own name correctly in reply.
But sadly two months later that hadn’t happened.
All he’d done was stare forlornly in Blue Guy’s direction, catalogued his various outfits and smiles, all the while pining away slowly and not quite plucking up the courage to speak to him again.
So of course, it was incredibly awkward when he’d had to ask.
“Who are you?” Keith said as he sat down, immediately wincing as he realised how direct and demanding the words were.
He’d wanted to know for months, had willed his mind to recall it so many time as he watched Blue Guy laugh with his friend in the row before him, hair tousled, tanned skin on show in a t-shirt with rolled up sleeves. So yes, perhaps it was a demand.
Only of course, Blue Guy was a normal person, and reacted like anyone would who’d already introduced themselves. He was, quite rightly, offended.
“Err, the name’s Lance? Dude, we sit near each other most classes, how do you not know who I am?”
And that would have been a good time to explain, to apologise, even laugh at his own ridiculousness. But Keith’s mind turned to mush once more, and just fixated on the fact Blue Guy, or Lance, had noticed him in class.
So he panicked. And shrugged.
Now it was exceptionally awkward, with Lance glaring at him, thinking he was stuck up and strange, when really Keith was just very gay and perhaps a little strange.
All in all, not good. But, they did have a presentation to work on together, so Keith was determined that today, he’d make sure to rectify his mistake
Except when Lance entered, a slight scowl on his face as he made his way over to Keith, he was wearing that shirt again. The distracting dark blue and white half sleeved one, which showed his shoulders and biceps off in just the right way.
Or wrong way for Keith, who seemed to lose all decorum and sense around Lance for as soon as he sat down, words sprung forth, running and jumping to be first past the post and collect in Lance’s hearing:
“I’m sorry. For forgetting your name. I just got distracted by you when we first spoke and then it was too late to ask again and time just...happened,” he said, in absolute horror of the sentences he’d constructed from truths and feelings he normally wouldn’t articulate.
Lance blinked, and just stared. Keith’s face was heating up to extremes in the wake of his half confession and he wondered if he had time to bolt out of the room.
Then Lance smiled, curving at one corner of his mouth in an expression of pure delight. Keith’s blush deepened further, and he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, trying to emulate calm to trick his body into hopefully feeling it.
“Distracted. By me. For what, two months?”
Lance was brimming with glee, and Keith tried to glare through it, willing his heart to slow just a little as his palms started to sweat. He was nervous beyond measure, never having done this before, unused to these feelings swarming and flooding.
“You’re pretty distracting,” Keith said, turning his head to the side, unable to stop admitting the truth now he’d started.
Lance hummed, and Keith drew his eyes back with effort. However, the smirk was gone, and a softer look had taken its place, encouragement and happiness clear.
“Well, I’d give you my number but I’m worried you’ll be too distracted to use it,” Lance said, leaning back in his own chair, kind smile still in place.
Keith felt his throat constrict, air leaving unbidden as the implication of Lance’s words hit. But before he could protest, probably start embarrassingly promising all sorts of fantastical things, Lance spoke again.
“It might be easier if you wanted to give me yours.”
He finished with a wink, and Keith’s mouth fell open in shock, amazed Lance could actually pull that off without it sounding ridiculous. But then, his brain caught up with the words, Lance looking slightly nervous as he waited for Keith’s reply.
“That...would be good, yes.”
And Lance’s smile was blinding, the stormy eyes alight with joy as he grabbed his phone and took down Keith’s number.
Keith wondered, as his own vibrated in his pocket with a new message, how on earth he’d managed to do that by forgetting someone’s name.
Based on a pivotal scene in my Single Dads AU (WIP):
“Geez, what decade is this even from?”
“Mmm, 1960’s I think?” he answers absently. “It’s one of Carmen’s favourites.”
“Hm.”
"She has a gigantic crush on you, y'know." Lance extends an arm, sending Keith into an impromptu spin.
Keith huffs out a laugh before garnishing the end of it with a flourish. “Well clearly she’s got good taste in music and men.”
Lance reels him back in, grinning softly, and then a gentle tug is pulling Keith’s back against his chest. Keith feels the entire room swirl, unsure if it’s from the dancing or the toned pair of arms now carefully encircling themselves around his waist. A puff of hot air catches the back of his neck, catapulting every nerve in his body to high alert as Lance leans inexplicably closer.
"Like father, like daughter."
It’s a whispered breath, barely there, and for a moment Keith freezes, wondering if he truly heard it in the first place. Heart thundering, he slowly turns to lock eyes with Lance over his shoulder.
“…What did you s—” The words die on his tongue, field of vision now flooded with blue eyes and bronze skin all too close and yet not close enough. They hold a stare and the moment lingers, music long forgotten as a new air settles between them. After a long silence, Keith swallows hard and dares his voice to whisper. “Lance…?”
April Monthly Klance, First Meet,first touch, Not Monsters & Mana AU but like, Fantasy AU, Adventure, Minor Injuries, no god no beta only me using grammarly and vague recollections of grammar lessons
Lance is cornered by a beast, a passerby saves him.
read on ao3
Lance didn’t think he would run out of luck when he was so close to his goal. Running away was was a cakewalk compared to this- at least once he evaded Veronica, a couple of guards, and a very high wall. Back then it had seemed to be the most difficult thing he had ever done, the most dangerous. But that was back then. After months among the wildly unexplored regions beyond his kingdom borders made him second guess his decision to leave made him second guess himself.
Now, facing a manticore, he almost voiced how much he wanted his mama.
He was tired, bedraggled from stumbling through foliage for months and living off of whatever food he can scrape from passing villages and berries he collected (because he refused to kill a single animal, no matter how hungry he got). He got caught by a party of bandits last week, escaped by the skin of his teeth and a sprained ankle that wasn’t healing all that great, and nearly drowned when he slipped off a rock into a fast-moving river that would have led him straight off a cliff if it weren’t for a miraculously placed outcrop of rocks.
On the bright side, he had met Hunk early on, who was also traveling the same direction and wished to accompany him on his journey, and after being robbed by Pidge while they had been dozing off in a hot spring, the little thief joined their motley crew when they found out she was heading to the same place as Lance. They had each other’s backs, and so far were the only people Lance had ever thought to call his friends. He felt unstoppable with them at his side.
Here, facing a thing of nightmares, he couldn’t stop shaking and wishing his friends were at his back. Its face was disgustingly humane, the scorpion tail whipped dangerously back and forth in the air as a hovering threat. Its claws were longer than Lance’s fingers and sharper than the broadsword quivering in his weakened hands.
“Little adventurer,” the monster purred. “Put your sword down, I am only here to eat you.”
“Can we take a rain check?” His voice shook with his hands. “I have an appointment with a god. I really must be going now.”
It growled. “No god can save you from my claws, little adventurer. You have stumbled into no man's land, a territory no deity can reach.”
Lance gulped. His friends weren’t coming to save him this time. They were back at camp snoozing, while Lance had taken to patrol the area at this hour. The moon, a brilliant and pale beauty, hung full in the sky with her heavy light. It glinted ominously off the shiny black of its scorpion tail and the razor-sharp teeth, stained yellow from too much blood. A cold wind sent a shudder down Lance’s already shivering form.
And yet, he wasn’t surprised he ran into such a foul beast when they were camping in the Forest of Beasts. He just didn’t think they would meet one of the worst monsters on the first night.
It lunged. Lance barely had time to roll out of the way and slash his sword to stop an incoming projectile from its tail. He’s trained lightly with the sword before, in court with an officiated knight, but never has he learned so fast and grown so skilled with the blade quite like a few months of traversing the wild unknown with everyone after the bounty on his head. The claws came out as the beast barely gave Lance a moment to breathe and think of a plan, moving too quickly for him to come off the defense.
A moment of weakness, his guard went down only a fraction, but it was enough for the manticore to land a fatal swipe to Lance’s defenseless side. Sharper than he was maybe three months ago, he avoided the brunt but was still felled by the sharp burn of its claws. His side flashed in white-hot pain that tore a scream from his throat. His back hit a tree hard, hot blood gushed from his side. It wasn’t deadly, but very painful and would probably need medical attention sooner rather than later.
“Your blood, it’s refreshing,” the manticore noted, its pink tongue wiped away the near-black crimson from its claws. “I haven’t tasted blood this youthful in a long time. I will enjoy this meal.”
With his own growl, Lance raised his sword and pushed himself off the tree, his free hand pressed hard into his side to put at least some pressure on the open wound. The feel of blood trickling down his wrist and it’s squelching between his fingers was not comforting. Lance’s movements were slowed, sluggish with the weight of blood loss. He parried the beast, swiped fruitlessly around its too long claws.
A surprise attack from the scorpion tail sent Lance back into the cold ground, the air knocked from his lungs in a heaving gasp. The manticore looked over him, teeth glinting in the luminous moon and Lance prayed that Hunk and Pidge will finish their journeys safely.
He closed his eyes and waited for the burning claws and teeth to tear into his weakened flesh. It never came.
Instead, Lance heard a growl and a yelp from the manticore, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground and scrambling away. The putrid air of the manticore’s breath was gone. Lance cracked an eye open. It really was gone. He opened both and found someone new had joined the fray.
The manticore crouched a few yards away, hissing and spitting at the newcomer. A gash ran deep down its flank which bled thick, dark blood.
“Begone, Galran scum. This is my feast. You dare interrupt me from playing with my prey?” It spat. A cold shudder ran down Lance’s spine. Playing?
The figure flinched. The cloud cover shifted and bathed their little spot in the forest with a flood of silver, illuminating the newcomer.
The Galran was lean and fit, his cloak strewn with tattered holes and a torn hem that was most likely longer at some point. Lance watched as his hood slipped from his head, revealing inky black hair that framed a mauve face, with a lamp like glow to his eyes and twin streaks on his cheeks- one was a dark scar and the other was a purple marking distinctive to Galran features. Twin blades, slim and unusual to Lance, were clasped in his gloved hands, his stance wide and wired for the next attack in his mud-covered boots.
“Can you stand?” The newcomer asked, voice deep and hoarse.
Lance nodded and climbed shakily to his feet. His guardian angel didn’t turn around to check, kept his stance ready to attack the beast if the manticore decided to stop prowling and start tearing them to shreds.
“We gotta run,” the Galran said. “You’re hurt and my blades won’t kill him.”
Lance kept his eyes trained on the seething manticore, the wound at its flank already sealing shut.
“You don’t happen to have some silver on you?” Lance asked.
They shook their head, shaggy dark hair came loose from the low ponytail. “I don’t. Can you run?”
Lance tested his side. It hurt pretty bad, he could probably run a little bit before he collapsed from blood loss. “I can, but not for long.”
“I’ll distract it. You get out of here.” His eyes wouldn’t leave the manticore’s prowling form.
“I’m not going to leave my savior behind,” Lance insisted. “ Let me help.”
“Help by getting out of my way, Your Highness,” the Galran growled.
Lance flinched. A bounty hunter then, who was most likely after his hefty bounty. He decided it would be best to get out of here before the Galran caught up and captured him, to drag him back to his kingdom. He snapped his mouth shut, leveled a glare with the Galran’s shaggy head, and took off into the brush.
He didn’t look back as he heard the manticore lunge for Lance and was blocked by a clang of steel and a sharp, inhuman yowl of pain. He kept running, blood certainly running down his pant leg and soaking the leather of his gloves with wet heat. He stumbled a little bit further until the sounds of the manticore's howls and the Galran’s swords were long behind him.
Weakness overcame his limbs, a heaviness that reminiscents a sleepy exhaustion, dragged him down to the earthy ground. The growls and hisses that lay hidden in the underbrush and the tops of trees among the Forest of Beasts, drawn to the scent of his blood that left a macabre trail illuminated by the moon’s silvery spotlight. If the manticore hadn’t killed him, something will be brave enough to get him now. He crawled to a tree and propped himself up, dizzy and weak, his eyes felt a little too heavy for comfort. The wound was nothing but a dull throb, the blood dried to his skin flaked away.
He didn’t know how much time passed while he dissociated against the tree, willing himself not to fall asleep and yet wanting more than anything to drift away. The blood flow had reduced to an oozing drip, which sounds like it would be good but Lance kept thinking it was because he was out of blood to bleed. His hands and feet tingled, his head felt so heavy yet weightless. If someone asked him to recite the Amendment laws of his country he would only be able to give them a fuzzy, “whuugh?”
A hand tenderly brushed his bangs back, hot against his chilled face. The fingers were calloused, yet so gentle across Lance’s sweat-soaked forehead. He cracked open his eyes to see it was the Galra who saved him, a line of worry etched across his forehead. His eyes weren’t glowing anymore, only reflecting the moonlight. The whites of his eyes were tinted yellow, and the irises were dark, not black, but a cool color Lance couldn’t pick out in the dark He was beautiful, with a smoothed face, dark brows, and full lips that were pulled down in concern.
“We need to get you out of here. I spotted a camp not far away, maybe they have a ward up and can help,” the stranger spoke softly, the croak to his voice nothing but soothing.
“‘M camp. Hunk ‘n Pidge are there,” Lance slurred. He really wanted to go to sleep.
The Galran nodded and scooped Lance up. The wind left Lance’s chest when he was suddenly lifted into the air, supported by two sturdy arms. He kept a quick and steady pace toward what Lance hoped was his camp.
“What’r you doing here? In the Forest of Beast’,” Lance asked, trying to keep himself talking.
The Galran hesitated, his lamp-like eyes a beacon in the silvery night. “I’m traveling west, and it’s either through here or the Bruig Mountains where the dragons' nest. A forest full of monsters sounded much more pleasant than several hundred dragons.”
Lance nodded. “We’re headin’ wes’. You should join us. We-we gotta stick together.”
“No. I work alone,” the Galran said. He kept his eyes forward, his breath only ragged around the edges from exertion.
“You’ll end up dead. Be’ides, we can use a cool guy like you,” Lance persuaded. His head felt fuzzy, but asking this Galran to join their band of misfits seemed like the best thing to do.
The Galra are a race of beings who were similar to the fairytale vampires, where the legends might have rooted from, most likely. Their appearances range from wolf-like to reptilian, where everyone fell within the scale of purples and blues, with golden eyes, sharp teeth, and disproportionately long limbs. Occasionally they seemed more human-like, but most of them were all monster. They’re kingdom laid in the deep North, where over the past couple hundred years they have traversed the land southward to dominate every country they can get their claws on. There was a famous rebel group that opposed them, the Blade of Mamora, a secret on the tips of everyone’s tongues.
Lance, despite seeing the pain brought by the Galra first-hand, inexplicitly trusted the one that carried him to safety. Yet, he was still wary of him being a bounty hunter.
“I’ll consider it. Only to stop you from dying at every turn,” the Galran hummed.
Lance’s head lolled back and rested against the Galran’s firm chest, warm leather and linen met his clammy cheek. “My name is Lance, by the way. Are you a boun’y hunter?”
“No, only a traveler like yourself.” The Your Highness comment must have been a throwaway remark.
“Then join us. ’M lookin’ for Allura, crazy I know, ‘cause she’s-”
“Only a legend, and yet there’s undeniable proof of her being alive and still as powerful as ever? Yeah, that’s where I’m heading.”
Lance perked up. “All the more reason to join us. Hunk makes good food and is an excellent sorcerer. Pidge is a ‘lil mean, but she’s nice once you ge’ on ‘er good side. She steals stuff sometimes.”
“I don’t- you don’t need to be traveling with the likes of me,” the Galran said bitterly. “I think this is it.”
They emerged into a small clearing where a campfire sputtered weakly, the ward tickling as they stepped through the ring Hunk had set up. Pidge’s grimy boots were sticking out of the canopy she set up to crash under, snores ripping through the night uncaring of the beasts lurking in the shadows. Hunk was stoking the fire, coaxing it back to life. He leaped to his feet when he saw Lance carried into their safe circle by the Galran.
“Lance, what- oh my stars is that, who are you?! What happened?!” Hunk’s panicked voice filtered through the cotton stuffed in Lance’s ears. His vision was starting to cloud over.
“‘S cool. This is… I ne’er got your name.” Lance waved weakly to his savior, slapping his face with the back of his gloved hand.
“Keith. I was passing by.” The Galran, Keith, tenderly placed Lance down on the bedroll by the fire. “Your friend needs medical attention, he got into a scuffle with a manticore and got a nasty scratch on his side.”
“Blood loss and all that jazz.” Lance wiggled his fingers. He was surprised he could still sort of feel them.
“Um, thank you, er… Keith,” Hunk said nervously. He knelt over Lance and started tenderly poking the wound. “It’s not terrible, but it’s bleeding pretty heavily. You still with us, Lance?”
“Yeah. I’m really dizzy, kind of heavy feelin’ even though I’m short on blood. You’d thin’ I’d feel light’r with all the blood missin’.”
Hunk pursed his lips. “You’ll be okay. I just need to clean and dress the wound.” He looked back up at Keith, who was standing awkwardly at the edge of their little camp, tense as if he was about to jump. Hunk softened. “Stay a bit. You saved Lance, and we want to thank you properly. Get warm by the fire, I have some stock left over you can eat if you’re hungry.”
Hunk leaned in and said lowly to Lance. “We can talk about it later. Right now, let’s get you fixed up.”
It didn’t take long for Hunk to cut away Lance’s shirt, clean out the dirt, sweat, and dried blood from the wound, rub a salve over the tender skin, and dress it with clean bandages. He coaxed Lance to eat some leftover dinner and tucked him into his bedroll, all the while speaking lowly to Keith over the fire. Lance fell asleep as soon as he was tucked in.
He awoke before dawn, the numbing magic Hunk had worked on him wearing off. Lance hissed and sat up, gripping his side. The sky was a lighter blue beyond the trees, the sun nowhere in sight and yet the sky was promising the new day was coming.
Keith sat by the burning embers of the fire, knees drawn up to his chest and his alien eyes were fixed on the glowing remains. His pointed ear twitched when Lance groaned and moved, pulling his gaze to see Lance struggling to sit up.
“Hey, relax.” Keith scooted over next to Lance and eased him back down.
“Hmm, so Hunk trusts you to watch camp while he scouts?” Lance asked. He was still laden with sleep but felt much more focused than last night.
“He… he asked me to join your little group, too.” Keith shook his head, messy black hair fell into his face. Lance wanted to push the inky strands away. “We talked for a while, at first he was rightfully cautious of me, but now he agrees I should travel with you guys.”
“It’s logical, the power of numbers, you know?”
“You’re not… scared of me… right?” Keith sat back on his heels, his hands curled into fists on his knees. Lance rolled over to face him, sucking in a wince when he pulled at his wound.
“Should I? You’ve been kind to us. I’m nervous that you could be a bounty hunter, but I have a feeling you can’t take on all three of us if you tried to collect the bounty.”
“You keep talking about a bounty and bounty hunters, should I be worried?” A smile, cheeky in nature, stretched across Keith’s cheeks.
“I have a four million bounty on my head, and Pidge has a three hundred thousand bounty. You could be set for life just by bringing us in.”
Keith’s eyes widened. “What did you do ?”
“Me? Nothing but run away. Pidge is the thief who stole a couple of things she really shouldn’t have, including some government secrets. Don’t worry, we didn’t kill anyone if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“But four million?”
“If you’re traveling with us you might as well know.” Lance pushed himself up with a grunt of pain and raised his chin to level his gaze with Keith, adopting the old air of royalty he abandoned so long ago. “I’m Prince Lancelot of Haven. I ran away to fulfill a quest to find Allura and save my country from certain destruction at the hand of Zarkon and his followers. Only she can grant me the power to do so. My family didn’t agree with my decision and are trying to bring me back home.”
“Should I be bowing?” Keith asked. There was a glint of humor in his eyes.
“No, I really don’t need you groveling in the dirt over my stunning beauty and high status. Instead, tell me why you need Allura?”
Keith hesitated.
“You don’t need to if it’s a sensitive topic, I won’t pry,” Lance said quickly. He felt embarrassment rise in his cheeks.
“No, it’s fine. I’m, uh, cursed. This isn’t how I actually look like,” Keith explained. “I’m half human, half Galra, but I looked physically human. A witch cursed me after I stole some of her squash to look like my ‘worse half’ and said the curse will break when I become one with it. I’m seeking Allura because she’s the only one powerful enough to break a curse like this.”
It had to be tough, Lance realized. The Galra were hated, even the rare nice ones. He must have been exposed to heavy prejudice the moment he stepped into the public and has been forced into hiding.
“I’m sorry.” It was all Lance could muster.
“Don’t be. I’ll join you guys, only to stop you from getting hurt like this again.”
Lance slumped back down in his bedroll and raised his pinky. “Promise?”
A wry grin stretched across Keith’s mauve face. He took Lance’s pinky in his own, interlocking the digits and held it tight. Lance couldn’t help but trace the shape of Keith’s pale purple pinky tipped with a lethal claw locked around his richly tanned one. This felt like the beginning of something, either good or bad, Lance didn’t know.
