includes: gender neutral reader ft. uta {tokyo ghoul}
author’s note: hope u like it :) have a nice day/night!
12. “But we are not married.” “Then marry me.”
Punk music played at medium volume and spread throughout the building, and you jiggled your right foot to it while keeping your both eyes on the colorful magazine in your hands. From time to time you also glanced at your boyfriend, Uta, who was a few meters away from you, tattooing another client who wanted a huge red dragon across the entire width and length of his back. His concentration was really intriguing, and not even your warm gaze could snap him out of trance.
That’s why, after a few tries, you focused entirely on the thick periodical, reading about the biggest fashion bloopers of this month and dozens of romances in the world of showbiz stars.
{ ･ﾟ✧ }
After another three hours, Uta finished part of the tattoo and thanked his male client for staying in the uncomfortable position for that time. Together with a middle-aged man who had a black beard and dark eyes, they agreed on the last meeting, and thus the last part of the beautiful painting that was to appear on the right shoulder blade. They shook hands, wished each other a nice evening, and then Uta closed the front door to his small tattoo studio, which he had been running for years on his own with no other employees. He turned off all the lights, then returned to a room decorated with a tattoo table, several cabinets, special equipment and a trash bin.
There was also a small, dirty-green leather couch and a table with a glass surface. There was you on the sofa, clutching a magazine in your hands, though your eyes were squeezed tight and your mouth slightly open. The calm face and light movements of the chest spoke loudly about the fact that somewhere in the middle of Uta’s work you fell asleep, and the only thing that appeared in your sleepy thoughts was the desire to drink a cup of coffee without milk and sugar.
For a brief moment, Uta didn’t have the heart to wake you up because he knew your life had been quite stressful in recent days and you had a lot of responsibilities in your private life, but at the same time, he didn’t want your head to hurt after this short nap, or worse, your back and neck.
Before waking you up, however, he glanced at one of the hands that was touching the paper and smiled at the small tattoo adorning your little finger. The drawing showed a full moon; light streaks and lines were made with the utmost precision – the tattoo looked like a real moon that can be found in the sky. After briefly glancing at your finger, he looked automatically at his own left hand and the left corner of his mouth twitched. On his pinky there was a drawing of the same size – the only difference was that there was a tiny sun on his pale skin.
He sighed though, touching your soft cheek covered with gold highlighter.
“... Mgmhm...” You muttered something unintelligible under your breath, which made the man laugh again. “Uta... It’s your turn to... Y-You have to take our kids to school... Mhm...” You said a little more clearly, though your voice was still quiet, muffled by yawns and the desire to stay asleep. It was, after all, close to eleven in the evening.
“Kids?” He raised an eyebrow and the silver earring a bit up. “But we are not married.” He added directly into your ear, and you wiggled your nose, keeping your eyes shut.
“Then marry me.”
Surely you dreamed something nice – there was a slight smile and a huge blush on your face. Uta gave up and decided not to wake you up. Instead, he lifted your body off the couch with no problem. He had placed the magazine on a glass table a moment earlier, next to a small candlestick and a vase of dead roses.
You were already soulmates, and that meant the bonds of marriage. Nevertheless, the vision of you two with a bunch of children and then grandchildren, although too beautiful, did not have to be unattainable.
Orkiidorkii, if you’re reading this, I know I promised a fluff piece, but there was something in my brain that urged me to write this
———————————————————————————————
It was one of those days when Yuma Kuga felt empty again. It wasn’t often, the rank wars and Tamakoma filled this hole in his heart, most of the time. Those days and nights were easy to bear, unlike this night. The moon hung in the night sky, illuminating everything around. On these nights, he would rather face the cool night winds that signal the end of summer and the approach of autumn.
The cold stone still pressed against his skin, the feeling no different from when he was alive. The night was one of the times he disliked the most; the feeling of being alone recharged him, but made him feel lonely. It reminded him of those years before he came to Earth…
He could hear two people’s footsteps on the granite behind him. Another followed behind, as if it was done reluctantly.
“Yuma!” Osamu’s arms wrapped around the albino; Chika and Hyuse were definitely there behind him.
“Please don’t scare us like that.”
Hyuse’s voice slid cooly with the wind, those words unexpected from Hyuse. Yuma didn’t know he cared for anyone other than Yotaro.
It was sudden—something Yuma hadn’t done in a while. Something he hadn’t known was possible in this trion body of his. Tears, a thin stream, slowly crept down his face.
Osamu, taken aback, let go of Yuma, apologies rolling off his tongue for surprising Yuma like that. Hyuse’s eyes widened, not expecting that of Yuma, and Chika just moved forward, as to be there for Yuma.
“Osamu… I’m a little lonely today. Could you and the others just… stay?” Yuma’s words came out as a shock to him as well.
Osamu just hugged him again, with Chika joining second, and Hyuse joining as well, much to the other group’s surprise as well.
“Does this help you?” Osamu, voice a simple comfort as it always has been.
Yes, it did. It did very much for Yuma. But the words died off in his throat, and they remained a group of kids, brought together by the force of fate, all searching for something of themselves. But for now, they would just be themselves, on this rooftop of granite.
———————————————————————————————
Worse than the last one, but I still love this one!
"'Party' is a little too informal a word," Allura explains patiently. "Not as much dancing and food, but I am sure there will be music and entertainment. These type of events are targeted to, ah, high-profile folks."
Hunk's eyes blow wide. "So like a —" he drops his voice to a reverent whisper "— a Jackson Wang party?"
Lance bursts out laughing so hard he has to gasp for breath. He hadn't been expecting that.
"Who?" Keith asks as Pidge's glasses flash, "Exactly!"
Hunk throws a hand to his forehead as he leans back in his seat.
"Oh, no father! Please don't send me away! I promise I will be the prefect daughter!" he protests in his best falsetto.
Pidge takes on a authoritative sitting position, elbows heavy on knees that are spread wide as they bow their head on their steepled their fingers. They adjust their glasses and sigh just as dramatically; as if the weight of the world is crushing down on them.
"I am so sorry, my darling, my one and only daughter, my prized treasure and only source of joy in this meaningless existence. But we are drowning in debt. Please, think of the good of the family," they plead in a comically deep voice.
Hunk gasps like he's been shot and throws himself down on his knees as he raises his clasped hands in a begging motion.
"No! I can't bear the thought of an outrageously wealthy man (who just so happens to be exactly my type) slowly become obsessed with me. I won't do it! I refuse!"
Pidge is not to be moved despite Hunk pulling at their sleeve with pathetic crocodile tears.
Coran joins in, equally distraught on Hunk's behalf, "Please, sir, not your only daughter!"
"I'm afraid the paperwork's already been done," they announce with finality and maybe a hint of regret.
Lance is limp on the floor, tears in his eyes struggling to breathe, but he's starts up again when he sees Keith's reaction to the scene: eyes round, mouth open, mortified.
"Okay..." Shiro appears equally confused but anxious to get back to the subject at hand. "Not exactly sure what's happening there but I'm gonna assume you get the idea?"
Lance, Hunk, and Pidge nod. Coran shakes his head with a contented smile.
Shiro powers forward. "This will be an intelligence mission. A large shipment of Quintessence will be changing hands. Our job is to find out not only who the buyer is, but more importantly, who is selling. We are not to interfere with this transaction whatsoever."
Hunk raises his hand.
"Yes Hunk?"
"But, like, won't they use the Quintessence for really bad things?"
"More than likely, yes," Allura concedes. "But if we let this one shipment slide it could bring us closer to shutting down all future shipments. If we apprehend the buyer the seller might get wind of it and be extra careful about covering their tracks. And it could take decaphoebs to catch their trail again."
"I don't like it," Keith mutters.
"Figures. You don't like anything," Lance quips, not missing an opportunity to take a dig at Keith as he pulls himself back up onto his seat. "Especially fun things like parties."
"That's not true!" Keith objects, arms crossed.
"Oh yeah?" Lance leans forward in his seat and holds up a finger at Keith. "Name one thing — and don't you say knives!"
Lance swears Keith's pupils transform into slits as the Red Paladin narrows his eyes at him. Lance shivers internally as the collywobbles bubble up in his stomach.
"That's what I thought," Lance sits back with crossed arms and a satisfied smile when Keith remains silent.
"I don't like it either," Allura admits. "But we have to keep in mind the bigger picture."
"So how exactly are we supposed to get into this super exclusive event?" Pidge asks.
Coran claps his gloved hands together gleefully. "I'm so happy you asked, Number Five."
* * *
Lance looks at himself in the mirror.
"Woah," he breaths, touching the slinky fabric snug at his neck. The deep blue is doing everything for his completion. It's a play on a halter top: draping from his throat and wrapping around his body until it meets again low on his back. He spins to check out how it looks from behind. Golden body chains accentuate the slopes of his spine. A delicate trail flows after him and his skintight pants that disappear into his thigh-high boots that somehow manage make his legs look even longer.
He gingerly touches his exposed chest (from the deep plunge cut-out) in wonder. He's never worn something like this. Elegant. Feminine. Never felt the need to. But now he doesn't know how he could ever go back.
He looks good. Better than that he feels good. Sexy. Desirable.
And he still needs his hair and makeup done.
"Just wait until Allura gets a hold of this," he smirks to himself as he skip down the hall.
Allura's door is open, but he knocks anyway.
"Perfect timing!" she invites warmly. "I'm just putting the finishing touches on Keith's hair. What do you think, should I go with the pearls or the crystals? Or maybe have him get dressed and come back and — oh my! Lance! You look..."
"Totally sexy right?" Lance twirls and strikes a pose, relishing how the material moves over his skin.
"I was going to say 'dashing.'"Allura coughs into her fist as Keith's mouth drops.
"No. This has to be a joke, you're not wearing that," Keith's reflection says to him in the mirror before looking up over his shoulder at the princess. "Allura tell him he's not wearing that."
Lance finds it a little disconcerting to see Keith's face all dolled up when he's still in his plain clothes. It's like his head had been cut off and replaced by a some gorgeous stranger. Allura had given him a dark red gradient lip and dark winged liner that highlighted his eye shape. She had done something to his face, making him look sharper — and were those silver freckles twinkling on his cheekbones like stars? The half up, half down hair style completely hid the fact that it was a mullet; the curls and braids twisting together to create something adjacent to beautiful.
Lance always knew Allura was magic, but this was proof. And if she can accomplish that with Keith, then what could she do with him? He bounces on the balls of his feet. He's never been so excited to be pretty before.
"Acutally, I designed all the outfits myself," the princess confirms to Keith's disbelief as she holds up a pearl to his hair with a critical gaze before setting it down and weaving in a crystal. "All the pieces are unique and I tried to keep your individual styles in mind. It was actually quite a fun project, I haven't gotten to do something creative like that in a long time."
"I thought we weren't supposed to draw attention to ourselves," he argues, giving Lance another once-over.
"Trust me," she assures him, grabbing another crystal. "You'll fit right in."
Keith opens and closes his mouth several times before the words die on his lips. Lance swears he turns purple. Keith isn't able to handle how good he looks, and Lance is enjoying every second of it.
"You having a stroke there buddy?" Lance taunts.
Keith gives him the stinkiest eye as Allura finishes weaving crystal embellishments into his hair in a circlet. A halo of starlight.
She sits back and inspects her handiwork before nodding in approval. "Keith, I know social events are not exactly your scene. And if I'm being honest, I'm a little worried about us not being able to act the part. But people are willing to excuse odd behavior if you at the very least look like you belong."
In his ethereal glamor and his (perfectly defined) eyebrows bunched up in anger, he looks like he could be an angel of destruction.
"I hate everything about this," he huffs (very unangelic-like, in Lance's opinion) and storms out, but not before shooting Allura one last betrayed look.
Allura sighs. "Why must you always antagonize him?"
"Me?"
"He was fine before you came in. Honestly, I know you don't like each other but I need you to at least be able to work with each other."
Lance finds this a bit unfair. Keith is perfectly capable of getting upset all on his own. Lance just gently nudged him along. Why is he getting blamed for Keith's attitude? But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he takes a seat in the chair Keith just vacated. "The crystals were the right choice."
* * *
Lance presses his palms against the window of the shuttle, trying to get a better look at the planet they're approaching, but the angles were not on his side. From what he can see it is tidally locked: covered in white ice on one side and covered in sea-green water on the other. With a sigh he sits back on the bench and shivers. For the first time he misses the comfort of his armor's insulating black rubber undersuit. Space is cold.
But he looks fantastic, so he'll live. Allura had kept with the gold accents when doing his make-up. Gold sunspots dusted his cheeks, giving him a warm, lively appearance. She kept the rest relatively simple: gold lids and simple gloss on his lips, the focal point clearly being his outfit and the way it showcased his body underneath.
Allura had been correct in her prediction he would look less out of place when the whole room was dressed to the nines. But in his backless attire Lance is still showing the most skin out of all of them. Lance slyly wonders what prompted the princess to make that decision.
He snuggles into Hunk's side a bit more, and Hunk wraps a bare arm around him, equally grateful for the shared warmth. His outfit is a bit sturdier, consisting of a golden vest that crossed over his front and fell to his knees. The Yellow Paladin is the only one out of them going bare-legged, his tunic held in place by a wide belt. Strappy gold sandals wrap up his calves and a plain gold circlet runs across his forehead. Allura tied the look together with hand drawn intricate green markings on his chest and arms. Lance thinks they would make sick tattoos.
Lance feels the hairs on his neck go up, and he knows exactly where that nasty energy is coming from.
Keith had folded himself in the back, arms crossed and a sour look on his face. Usually Lance would ignore him, but Keith won't stop glowering at him from the corner.
He looks striking in dark oxblood, his pale skin and dark hair in stark contrast to the bold pop of color. Lance can't really see the details of the outfit because of the cape that drapes luxuriously off of one shoulder that Keith swaddled himself in. Lucky.
Lance hates to admit it, but he looks drop-dead gorgeous, even as he's staring daggers back at him.
"Take a picture it will last longer."
Keith gives him the darkest look, like Lance just stomped on his puppy, and pointedly looks away with a hmph. An actual hmph.
Cheezits. Lance knows Keith isn't happy about this mission but it's not like it's his fault Keith has to go. Why is everybody mad at him?
Oblivious to the death-match stare-down happening around them, Pidge is happily bobbing their head as they quietly sing to themselves and mime out little dance moves.
Lance has never seen them not dressed like a gremlin and finds their transformation perhaps the most jarring of all. They're the only one not showing skin, their billowy sage top ending in bishop sleeves and a high collar. Their brown leather pants extend up their waist into something kinda like a waist corset. Hair slicked back and glasses gone, Lance barely recognizes them. And as a final touch, Allura had painted shimmery geometric patters on their face that are only just barely visible when the light hits them directly so that only little shows at a time. It makes them look like their skin is slightly translucent and underneath they are made of circuitry. It's really cool.
He keeps finding himself stealing glances at them, as if he's not completely sure this isn't some stand-in swapped out at the last minute. Suddenly, Pidge jumps up and starts rapping. Poorly. And yep, there they are.
"Oge tido tiga naya channeun geoji won
Nunbusige binna binteumi eopji neon
Nae nune eolmana yeppeunji I want you
Jigeum idaero you're the only one"
Hunk bobs his head, humming along and vocalizing on the English words.
"대체 뭐야? 한국어를 언제부터 알고 계셨나요?"¹ Keith says darkly from the back.
Pidge just shrugs. "I don't actually know Korean."
"You call yourself an fan," Hunk shakes his head in mock disappointment.
"Says the one who only knows the English parts!" Pidge accuses.
"Yeah, well, Keith doesn't even know what we're talking about and it's his culture," Hunk deflects.
Keith shrugs in such a way that Lance is reminded of that one Lin Beifong meme. "I grew up in Texas."
This is news to everyone.
¹ The fuck? Since when do you know Korean?
* * *
Keith's unlikely background is still Voltron's hottest topic by the time they dock.
"Yeehaw. Howdy pardner," Pidge sniggers quietly as they disembark.
The shuttle had landed on the planetary side of the the eternal night, down a tunnel to far underground. Kinda like an underground parking garage. The air was stale but at least it was warmer down here.
Keith was over it yesterday. "That's offensive."
"And I'm, like, 12," Pidge exaggerates. "I say offensive shit."
"Pidge, stop being racist to Keith," Shiro admonishes, a little lost on the the conversation he walked into after leaving the cockpit.
Their leader looks royal in muted purples. The style is kinda giving gothic vampire with its snug waistcoat and dramatic overcoat, but Lance thinks it works. He appreciates the time Allura took to conceal his large scar running across the bridge of his nose. She had brushed purple blush on his cheekbones that climbed to his temples, giving his face a new focal point.
"Racist!?" Pidge chokes. "I'm making fun of him for growing up in Texas, not because he's Korean!"
"Doesn't matter. If you can pilot Voltron you can know when to stop."
"Oooooh," Lance pokes them in the cheek. "Shiro dad-ed you so hard!"
"It's the least he can do for loosing my real one," Pidge grumbles teasingly.
"Alright that's enough," he says miserably. "This isn't some party we can goof off at. We're here with on a mission, and that mission counts on us being able to blend in long enough to get the information we need. That means we need to act like we belong. Princess?" Shiro offers her his arm and she smiles softly as she takes it.
Allura is the definition of radiance. Every bit as elegant and beautiful as the title of 'princess' evokes. If Keith's the angel of destruction then she's the angel of creation. A bringer of life and light. A goddess. Lance finds himself feeling a little small and shy in her wake.
He follows them to the entrance where they are admitted after Allura flashes some sort of documentation. They are ushered into a room where the are swarmed with staff. They are scanned for weapons and asked if they wish to check their coats. Shiro gratefully unloads his. Lance swears he sees Keith snarl at the poor Unilu who dared approach him for his cape.
They load up into an elevator that shoots them up to the surface.
"Okay team, remember this is an intel mission only. Don't blow our cover, and absolutely no getting involved. We're probably going to see a lot of things that are illegal and we have to act like we're used to it. Be friendly and open, but don't share too much about yourselves, even if it is just a cover story. Any questions?"
"Nah, we got this," Lance says confidently as the elevator doors slide open and they are assaulted with pounding music and sounds of a lively crowd.
"Okay, we'll split up to cover more ground, but use the buddy system."
"I'll take Lance," Keith grumbles. "We'll go look for any vantage points where we can survey from above."
Lance head whips to him in surprise. The Red Paladin had been giving him nothing but dirty looks since debrief. "Uh, okay?"
Hunk zeros in on a staff member weaving through the crowd with a little tray of appetizers. "Mmm-hm, sounds good. I'm gonna scope out the food situation and make friends with the caterers. They always have the juiciest tea. They might know something."
"Delicious. I'm with Hunk," Pidge announces grabbing Hunk's arm as they dash away together.
"Behave!" Shiro calls out after their hastily retreating forms.
"I guess that leaves me with you, Princess," Shiro says, bowing and offering his hand. "Care for a dance?"
"I haven't danced in ages," she laughs as she takes his hand.
They look perfect together. It twists something in Lance's chest. He watches them go wistfully.
"Do you ever forget that she's an actual princess? Like it's not just a title, but who she truly is?"
Keith side-eyes him.
Lance continues. "Because I do. She's just so..."
"Human?"
"Yeah, something like that," Lance sighs, rooted in place.
Keith gives him a moment before he lightly smacks the back of his head. "Let's go scope out the vents."
"Wha abp abp abp abp abp abp abp. Hold your horses there, cowboy. Didn't you hear Shiro? We need to blend in. We're going to check out the pool. These things always have a pool."
Keith looks him up and down. "We are not swimming."
"Who said anything about swimming? Fancy places like these? Probably has some sort of balcony that overlooks it."
"That's — actually a better idea."
"Just stick with me, you scowling wallflower," Lance says strutting forward. "I'll take it from here."
Lance takes maybe five steps forward before he is momentarily blinded as something is thrown over his head.
"Hey!" Lance yells as he thrashes wildly. As it turns out, it's just Keith's cape, and Lance is not, in fact, getting stuffed into a sack and hauled off to be kidnapped and ransomed for Voltron.
"Put it on, you look cold."
"What about you?" Lance takes in the pleated leather that wraps around Keith's broad chest, leaving his shoulders and abdomen exposed. Since when did he have washboard abs? Lance narrows his eyes.
"Galra perk. We don't get cold."
Lance tears his eyes from his infuriatingly perfect figure. "Wait, actually?"
Keith doesn't answer and just moves past him.
Lance rolls his eyes and runs his fingers along the suede fabric. Whatever. It is a bit nippy.
* * *
Keith looks up with crossed arms. "It would be on the ceiling."
"Yeah, forgot about that," Lance admits as he rubs the back of his neck before snapping his fingers into a finger gun. "How about that one ballroom with the really loud alien club music? I think I saw a bar or something overlooking it. Plus it's dark — the perfect setting for shady business."
Keith's knits his brows together. "I don't remember a ballroom like that."
"I don't think you saw that one."
It's funny watching him suppress the urge to argue that they had been together the whole time.
"Unless you got a better idea, Mr. Let's-climb-in-the-vents?"
"Okay, sure, whatever."
Lance leads them back though the maze of rooms. He's good at mazes. When he can see the walls, that is. He stops suddenly, something catching his eye.
Keith bites back a curse as he crashes into him. "What is it?"
Lance just points with his chin.
Slower, softer music is playing in this room, and the dancers drift about the room in pairs. One pair in particular stands out.
"She looks so happy," he says longingly as Shiro twirls Allura before catching her in his arms. "Why do they look like a couple right now? It's so stinking cute, I hate it. Just you wait Princess. Shiro may be the perfect gentleman and you might look cute together, but I'll become the best dancer the universe has ever seen!"
Keith side-eyes him. "You do know that, ah, um, nevermind."
"Of course I do. I was in Instructor W's flight theoretic class."
"Oh."
"It's just I've never seen he smile like that before and, ugh, I can't take this," Lance says turning away. "C'mon. This way."
* * *
"I thought you said ballroom," Keith complains loudly over the pounding music, annoyed.
"What? There's dancing," he shrugs and sweeps his arm out over the floor.
"Lance, this is a strip club."
"Yeah, and the best view is from up there, chop chop."
Keith glares at him in disbelief.
"You wanted a vantage point," Lance reminds him. "I got you a vantage point. If you don't like it you can find your own vantage point."
"Fine," he hisses though gritted teeth.
They take the escalator (a terrifyingly small glass plate that hovers magically) up the the top.
Lance spies an opening at the railing and secures two seats.
"Go get us drinks," he shoos Keith away after sitting down.
"We're not here to mess around," Keith asserts, the frustration rising in his voice.
"Yeah, I know. We're here to blend in. So, Sherlock, what do people do in bars?" Lance leans back in his seat with a smug smirk.
Keith looks like he's trying to strangle him with his eyes.
"I hate you so much right now."
"This was your doing," Lance reminds him as Keith irritably turns away to fetch the aforementioned drinks.
Lance settles in and gives the room a wide sweep. Three levels. The main stage is on the floor, where six or seven dancers perform. Some seating, but not a lot. The second floor consists of standing tables and a couple miniature stages where a single performer is stationed, and he can see attendants meander about with little trays of hors d'oeuvres. The third floor, where he's currently sitting, consists of the bar and some private booths. He begins a second, more meticulous, sweep, but finds himself distracted by what is happening below.
Lance's eyes follow the lithe movements of the dancers as they weave around each other in fluid formation, mesmerized. The fact that they are all in various states of undress help keep his attention.
He jumps when something slams down in front of him. A drink. Lance sniffs it. Bergamot and...something.
"Too busy to save my seat?" Keith bites in his ear.
Lance looks to his left and the stool next to him is indeed occupied. That's a blow to his pride as the team's eagle-eye. He shifts over, offering half his cushion.
Keith just rolls his eyes and leans his forearms on the railing next to him.
Lance inclines his head towards him so as to speak without shouting. "Actually, I was. As you can see, it's too loud in here for normal conversation, which is ideal if you don't want to be overheard. But, much like us, they'd have to be all leaning close if they don't want to shout." Lance takes a cautious sip and it zaps him, like static electricity. He tries again with a similar result. "I've never thought it was possible to drink static."
"Then don't drink it."
"No, I like it!" Lance protests, taking a big gulp. It fizzles the whole way down, making him warm and floaty. "Anyway, right now there's four groups that fall into that category. We got T-Rex Man and Green Suit in the northwest corner on the second floor, Badass Tabaxi Girlbosses and what could be a Galra Officer in the private booth behind me, and Two-Tails and Cyborg sitting in front of the poles," he recites without looking up.
"And the fourth?"
"You and me."
Keith furtively looks where Lance directed. "Okay, I'll get closer. Stay here."
"Waa—" Lance squawks. "Why? I don't have my gun, it's not like I can watch your back if you get caught?"
"I'm less likely to be caught if I'm by myself. Besides, if something were to happen to me then you can still alert the rest of the team."
Valid points all round.
"Keith wait!" Lance grabs his arm as Keith begins to turn away. "Do my lips look weird?"
Keith squints at him, "No?"
"They feel weird," Lance smacks them together experimentally.
"I'm leaving," he says, exasperated.
"Wait! Bring me back another one?" Lance lifts his half-full glass.
"Already?" Keith judges.
"It's not like you're gonna lose your seat or anything."
Keith sighs but pushes off the bar all the same. "Watch my drink."
Lance smiles to himself. He's enjoying the fact that Keith can't fight back as usual without making a scene. He just hopes Keith doesn't turn that around on him. Peeking after him to make sure his back is still turned, he steals a sip of Keith's drink and immediately spits it back in instant regret.
All the sour candy in the world could not compare to this abomination, this potion of poor choices, this elixir of embitterment. Lance scrapes his tongue on his top teeth a couple times in attempt to get the lingering taste off, but it's no use. Lance downs the rest of his liquid static, maybe the numbing effects will balance out whatever distasteful agents clung to his tongue.
He watches as Keith approaches the Tabaxi mafia. He really does look good tonight. Too good. Lance closes his eyes and shakes his head.
It's hot in here. Unrelated to anything. He shrugs off Keith's cape and drapes it across his lap as he takes a deep breath, enjoying the relief the cool air brings to his skin. He leans forward, chin cupped in his palms, idly scanning the room in between locating Keith every couple seconds. On a closer inspection T-Rex and Green are looking a little too canoodley for a high-profile fuel deal, and Two-tails just slapped Cyborg before storming off in a huff. Even the private booth looked more like a situation where private booth things happen. Lance is all but certain what they're looking for isn't going to be found here. It's too loud. Too open.
"You're a new face," a voice purrs next to him.
Lance looks up to see a Galra woman, large fangs on display as she smiles.
Lance grins back coyly as he readjusts his lazy pose to face her. "What makes you say that?"
She slowly gives him a head-to-toe. "Because I would remember a divine thing like you."
Lance can't help but blush. He's not used to being on the receiving end of lines like these. It does something to him. Or maybe that's just the drink getting to his head.
She leans closer, tail flicking at his ankle. "What could bring such a celestial being to this side of the galaxy? Business? Pleasure?"
"Who says I can't do both?" he flirts back in true bisexual form.
A laugh rumbles in her chest. "Aren't you curious? Are you... unattended?"
"Ask me what this is made out of," Lance encourages as he suggestively touches the material down his front.
"He's with me," Keith says firmly, stepping between them and placing a fresh glass in front of Lance.
Her eyes flick to where Keith's arm drapes protectively around the back of Lance's chair.
"My mistake," she says, slipping away.
"That's never happened to me before. I'm always the one to make the first move," Lance admits once he's sure she's out of earshot.
"What did you expect? You look like you should be down there."
"Bet you'd love to see that, wouldn't you?"
Keith seethes. "Did you watch my drink?"
Lance uses two fingers to slide the nasty-ass drink over to him and fails to hide his shock when Keith empties it in one go. No flinching or anything.
"So I don't think the other two are in the running anymore. What did you find?"
"It's, uh, bad. Really bad. But not why we're here."
It's killing him to do nothing, Lance can tell. It bothers him too, and he wants details, but he knows that will make it worse so he says nothing. He looks around for a distraction. Luckily there are plenty to be found here. Lance takes a sip from his second drink and openly ogles the entertainment below.
"Are you nineteen?"
"Nope," Lance says, popping his 'p's. "Just healthy."
"Uh-huh," Keith hums, not impressed in the least.
"Anyway, I think I found something."
"I swear to god if you say your —"
"No, no, for real. Watch," Lance points to the main stage below. "When Pink Scales passes by Tassels she always whispers. Every time. Look."
Keith rolls his eyes as he turns his head to the platform before blanching and rounding on Lance with an aghast expression. "Tassels? Really?"
"What would you call her?" Lance challenges defensively.
"Uh..."
Lance takes a triumphant sip of his drink. "Not a lot to go on, huh samurai?"
"We are calling her Vanessa," Keith says firmly.
"Vanessa? She like you're first crush or something?"
"Lance, focus!"
"Right, right. So watch closely: Pinkie Pie will pass by, and say something to Vanessa. And the more she says the unhappier Vanessa looks. They could be negotiating! But then it's tricky because Mr. Slave also be acting suspicious with Mr. Hat in the corner."
Keith stares at him in a cross between wonder and disappointment.
"There's something wrong with me. On like, a fundamental level," Keith bemoans to himself quietly before continuing. "Why would they need to broker a deal while peforming? They're probably from the same troupe."
That thought hadn't occurred to Lance.
"Oh yeah..." he says, eyes still glued to the dancers. "But like, what if they were from different troupes and they wer— hey!"
Keith plucks his drink out of Lance's hand and swigs the rest of it. "Nope. No more drinks for you. Come on."
"But I haven't concluded my investigation," Lance blubbers as Keith hauls him along by the arm.
"Nope. We're done here."
* * *
"We're not gonna find what we're looking for in a big wide open space like that," Lance explains as they wander through the aquarium. "It will be somewhere quieter with more privacy. Somewhere where there's not a lot of traffic. Hey look!"
Lance points to an unfortunate looking red fish with purple stripes. "It's you!"
Keith doesn't find it nearly as amusing as he does. "Probably harder to find too."
Lance rolls his eyes. Keith's been going about this all wrong.
"Excuse me!" Lance waves down one of the staff, tittering drunkenly. "Is there anywhere, ah, more private?"
He takes Keith's arm and leans on him, smiling secretively.
Unfazed, the attendant gives them directions before disappearing.
"Your problem is that you are so stuck in the mindset that we're not supposed to be here." Lance rights himself, still leaning an elbow on Keith's shoulder. "Relax a little. Who knows? You might even have fun for once."
Keith's eyes are so sharp they cut. "Where's my jacket?"
"Dunno. I think we left it at the club. Darn! Now we have to go back," Lance provokes.
In response Keith swats Lance's elbow of his person, but something about his stressed features tells Lance that he's considering it.
"I thought you said you didn't get cold."
Keith doesn't deign that with an answer, and nudges Lance forward, herding him down the path they were given. He keeps close, walking a little too closely behind Lance as they meander across the property. Always the bodyguard.
"Hey, slow down!" Lance protests when they get to an art gallery. "We can't walk through here and not look at the art!"
Keith eyes a painting with random shapes and colors before glancing at the sculpture of haphazardly placed metal blocks. "I've never really understood art like this," he admits.
"It's because you have no imagination!" Lance says dramatically, stepping towards the sculpture and swinging his arm up at it, eyes shining. "It's not only about what you see, but also your reaction to it. What does it make you feel? Does it bring up any memories? This kind of art is unique in that it can evoke a very different response in every person. That's the beauty of it."
He turns back to Keith who is staring at him like he's in a daze. Keith covers his mouth with his hand as his cheeks flare red.
"What? What's wrong?"
Keith inhales deeply, composing himself. "It looks like a space wreck."
"To you! To me it — hey actually you're right," Lance tilts his head at it. Like a whole bunch of metal collided with something and had been floating in space, gravity gradually pulling the pieces back together into a misshapen ball. "But my point still stands!"
"Mmm, totally."
"Okay, whatever, let's just go!"
* * *
They find their way to a hall with alcoves and soft music playing.
"This exactly what we're looking for!"
Keith eyed the lighting. "How are we gonna look around without being suspicious?"
Lance wags his eyebrows at him and offers him his hand with a slight bow. "We dance!"
"I don't know how."
"It's okay, I'll lead. With you're footwork you'll catch on in no time." Lance lifts his hands waist high, palm up. "Gimme you're hands."
With his uncertain expression and eyes wide, Keith looks like a terrified kitten ready to bolt, but he does as Lance directs.
"I got you, samurai. We'll start slow." Lance assures him. "Come a little closer. Not that close! Right there, yeah. Okay now bend your knees slightly like you do when sparring. Good."
Lance pushes their hands towards Keith. "You're gonna want to keep your elbows bent and then lock them there. No folding or extending. Now imagine that there's this invisible beach ball between us. If we get too close it will pop, if we go to far we'll drop it. We need to hold it gently, that will help keep the same space between us as we move. When I push —" Lance takes a baby step forward "— keep the distance and step back. Perfect! And when I pull, yep, you got it. Just keep following like that until you get the steps down."
He's kinda cute like this, face scrunched in concentration as he keeps is feet glued to Lance's feet. His grip is so tight it almost hurts, like he's hanging on for dear life. The great Keith Kogane, humbled by some basic dance steps.
"Step back with you're right foot," Lance follows him by stepping forward with his left. "Same thing with the left," again, mirroring. "And the right again. Good. Now, side step with the left and then together. Nice! Again."
They repeat the moves a couple more times.
"Is that it?" Keith asks, relaxing a little.
"Not quite. Those were just the steps." Lance drops his right and raises his left, stilled clasped with Keith's. Keith tenses as Lance snakes a hand around Keith's waist before Lance jerks away like he's been burned when hand comes in contact with bare skin. Lance repositions for a hold higher on his back, over the leathers, and pulls him closer.
Keith half-heartedly resists, face tight and stance ridged.
"That beach ball is an orange now."
Keith looks like he wants to say something, but Lance steps forward in sequence, forcing Keith to follow. Keith is a fast learner. Too fast. Lance grins as he thinks of a way to keep him on his toes.
As they step together on the last count Lance swings him down and around in a dip. Keith lets slip what Lance suspects is a curse as he claws at him, clinging closer. Lance would be lying if he says he didn't like it.
"Relax, I'm not gonna drop you," Lance laughs as Keith shoots daggers at him with his eyes.
"I want to lead."
"Hmm, maybe next time," Lance promises, knowing full well that this was very much a one-time thing. Absolutely no next-times on the horizon.
Lance never would have imagined himself here. At a fancy party, dancing with his rival. And kinda-sorta enjoying it. It helps that he can't help but steal a few glances. Keith really is gorgeous tonight.But it proves as a perfect way to move about the whole room in a way that didn't draw too much attention.
They overhear plenty. Mostly boring shit that wealthy people do to entertain themselves. But it's not until they work their way over to the corner that they find something interesting.
"...transaction proceeding smoothly..."
"...are professionals...not aware...handling..."
Keith squeezes his hand twice and Lance nods, subtly changing their direction a bit closer to the voices.
"Goods are ready to go, just let me know when the transfer is complete."
Yeah, this is promising. Lance risks a glance and, oh shit that's the woman from the bar. He whisks them behind a pillar and out of her line of sight, stepping on Keith's foot in the process.
"What is it?" he whispers, leaning close into Lance's ear.
"Remember the lady from the bar? The one that was giving...open minded vibes?"
"Shit. She knows our faces."
"Do you think she recognized us?"
Keith shakes his head, hair tickling Lance's cheek. "No. Otherwise the deal might have been postponed. But it still wouldn't be good if she sees us here."
Lance peeks around the corner. The Galra and her companion are quickly moving across the out side of the room and down a long corridor. Lance pulls Keith along as he backpedals, craning his neck and watching what door the disappear behind. "Okay, it's your turn. Time to show me your ninja skills."
Keith looks a little lost as Lance lets go of him, his arms almost like they have a mind to grab him back, taking that orange seriously. But then Keith shakes his head and he's all business again. "C'mon."
They quickly move down the corridor and stop at the door Lance indicates. They press their ears to the door where muffled voices can be heard.
"The transfer has been completed. We're moving the goods now."
"Wild. I wasn't expecting it to change so many hands today. What happened?"
"Some sort of gambling dispute. But it looks like it's all settled."
"Perhaps we should wait until the end of the night before making any moves, the product is unstable can't handle that much movement.
"Policy dictates that whoever holds ownership gets the shipment. It must change hands immediately."
Lance is certain this is what they've been looking for. But they need names.
Lance exchanges a look with Keith. Their faces are close enough that he can see the small scar in Keith hairline from when he hit himself in the face with his bayard. Lance steps back, looses his balance, but then catches himself on the doorframe.
"Did you hear something?"
Shit.
They backpedal away from the door, but they are in the middle of a long hall, nowhere to hide, no excuse for how they got there.
Keith reaches at his waist for his knife and grasps at air. Setting his jaw he steps in front of Lance.
"Wait!" Lance hisses as loud as he dares, pulling him back. "I have an idea, but you're gonna hate it. Trust me?"
Keith glances apprehensively at the door as the handle begins to turn. He gives a small nod. It's not like he had any options.
Lance reaches for him and Keith's eyes go wide in shock and that's all Lance sees as his eyes slip closed when their lips touch.
To his credit, Keith only fights him for a few seconds before catching on, urgently moving his lips against Lance. Lance wraps his arms around his neck, burying his hands in that beautiful hair, stepping back a few more steps. Keith follows after him. Someone was paying attention during dancing lessons. A moment more and Keith is grabbing at Lance's waist. His hands are hot everywhere they touch Lance's bare skin and in this outfit he's more or less naked from the waist up. This was a terrible idea.
Lance barely even registers when the door opens.
"Oh, quiznak, not in the hall, we have rooms for this!" the voice of the companion wails. "Szeth!"
A new, softer voice makes itself heard. "Excuse me."
Lance moans into Keith's mouth in protest before pulling away. They separate with a pop. Lance wipes his mouth with the back of his hand as the other snakes under Keith's leathers. He giggles, "Oops. Our bad."
"If you will follow me," the attendant dressed in all white says with a slight bow and leads with his hand.
Lance's heart pounds, but he dares not look back. Just because he didn't hear her doesn't mean that the Galra woman didn't come to the door. And if she did then, well, it wouldn't be good.
They follow the attendant around a few corners until they enter a dark room. Lance's eyes get huge. They are not the only ones here.
"Let us know if there is anything you need," the attendant says.
Look like we belong look like we belong look like we belong, Lance repeats in his head.
"Uh, we're good," he turns around quickly and pulls Keith by the hand after him to an unoccupied corner. The attendant is still there. Why is he still there?
Lance pushes Keith down onto the couch before climbing on top of him.
"Oh hell no," Keith growls, flipping them over.
Fine. If Keith wanted to top in this make-believe production who was Lance to argue? He knew who was really in charge here. He looks up at Keith. His eyes do that thing where they reflect light in the dark and Lance's stomach feels weird. Keith touches his jaw, as if to say "are we doing this?"
Oh, they're doing this. Lance lifts his head and Keith meets him halfway. Maybe it's the darkness, but this kiss feels a lot more intimate and Lance finds himself quickly getting embarrassed and maybe a little overwhelmed. He turns away, breaking it. Keith stays close, nosing his cheek as his hands trail down his sides, making Lance shiver.
Lance slides a hand up Keith's exposed abs. For no other reason other than he'd probably never get this chance again. And to keep up appearances. Yeah. Mostly that. He squirms when Keith's hair tickles his throat. He slides a hand though it. It's so silky. Just like he imagined it might be. He combs his hand in again.
Lance guiltily looks to the entrance.
"Hey, I think — mmungh — I think they're gone," Lance whispers but Keith makes no indication that he heard him as he attends to his neck.
"Keith? Keith!" Lance pushes him and Keith dislodges with a pop, eyes glassy and mouth dripping. "They're gone."
Keith blinks dumbly a him a couple times before bowing his head on Lance's chest and cursing. "좆됐어."²
Lance lets his head fall back on the couch in relief as he admits with a shaky laugh, "I thought we were dead for sure."
Keith is not laughing. His face is tight, mouth pressed into a thin line, avoiding eye contact.
"How long do you think we have to stay here before we can leave without it seeming suspicious?"
Keith clenches his jaw.
"I did warn you that you would hate it," Lance reminds him.
Keith pushes off of him and gives the room a quick glance. Everybody's too preoccupied to give them much notice. And just like that he walks away.
Sitting up on his elbows, Lance watches him go, guilt eating him up. For Lance, physical touch is as essential as breathing, and this was almost too much for him. How much worse for Keith who naturally shied away from anything of the sort?
² I'm so fucked
* * *
"There you are," Lance sinks beside him, reaching for Keith's cup. "I thought you said no more alcohol?"
"I said no more alcohol for you," Keith corrects, lifting his cup out of Lance's reach.
"I'm sorry about back there. I panicked," Lance blurts.
"'S fine."
"No really. I know you don't do the whole touchy thing and that was a lot."
"Lance. I'm gonna need you to stop bringing it up."
"Okay. Okay." But Lance can't help himself. "Was that your first kiss?"
"I will kill you."
"Sorry, sorry!"
"Are we good?"
"We're good."
"Good."
They sit in mutual silence. Lance tries not to think about the fact that he now knows what the Red Paladin tastes like. What it feels like to be held by him. How his —
"Is that Hunk?"
Lance looks up.
"Dios mío."
* * *
Long story short, they get escorted out. By security.
The bad news is that they didn't get any of the information they were looking for. The good news is that they were kicked out for causing a disturbance, and not because their cover got blown. They probably still were blacklisted for life though.
"Wait! Where's Pidge?" Shiro asked, alarmed.
Hunk shrugs. "I lost them in the casino."
"How are we going to contact them?"
"They're very intelligent, I'm sure they'll figure it out," Allura says calmly.
"They are a minor!" Shiro stresses, rounding on Hunk as they weave their way around attendants rolling heavy carts on their way to the shuttle. "I can't believe you just left them there!"
"Left who?" a familiar voice asks.
Pidge is perched up on the top of the shuttle, swingging their legs as they supervise the attendants load up the shuttle.
"Pidge!" Shiro calls in relief. "Thank goodness. What's all this?"
"Uh, my winnings?" they say cockily.
An attendant looks up at them and bows. "That should be everything, Mx. Safe travels."
"Thanks!" Pidge says, swinging down from their perch.
"So how'd it go?" they ask when they attendants all leave.
"We got kicked out," Lance reports as he boards, squeezing in between the boxes. Keith slides in close next to him. Lance tries not to read into it.
"Wait, really?"
"Really," five voices say in unison as the door sides shut.
Pidge's eyes shine. "Awesome!"
"No, not awesome," Shiro corrects. "We failed to find the supplier."
"Oh, I found that out ages ago," Pidge says casually, waving their hand.
They stare at their youngest teammate, disbelief in their eyes.
"What? Chronic gamblers with bet anything," they explain. "Turns out, the buyer was a gambler, and ended up betting his whole haul, but I told him he could keep it if he told me where I could get my own slice of the pie. But then he lost to me again."
"So you have the buyer, the seller, and the quintessance?"
