drabble. i love when pidge and hunk troll keith (and, by extension, lance)
At some point, Keith has to admit that his friends might very well hate him, considering the amount of times they put him into situations wherein his crush on Lance causes problems.
“C’mon!” Pidge and Hunk had said, grinning innocently, “Lance’s gonna play guitar for us. You should come watch!”
As if they, in their years of friendship, didn’t know that Lance playing guitar is horrifically attractive.
They led Keith into the lion’s den, basically, and now here he is, watching Lance strum his light-brown guitar, its wood and strings well-worn with use. He’s humming along faintly—some song that Keith doesn’t know—and his eyes are lidded as he half-looks at his fingers, clearly comfortable enough that he doesn’t need to concentrate on playing too hard.
Keith’s chest aches painfully. He imagines feeling Lance’s throat vibrate when his hums, the warmth of the skin there. The deftness of those fingers is not lost on Keith, either. His body temperature has heated up so quickly that Keith is practically melting at this point, and he instinctively puts a hand over his mouth, his brain trying to hide the flush he knows he’s experiencing.
Pidge and Hunk smirk on either side of him. Because they are bastards and traitors.
Lance finishes his short song with a flourish, pulling his fingers breezily across the strings and looking up with a far-too-smug grin. “There you go. Thank you, thank you very much,” he says, his Elvis impression not entirely on point. Keith hisses at the side of him that wants to swoon. Groupie behavior. Get a grip!
“Nice,” Hunk says, nodding solemnly. “I liked it a lot. Did you, Pidge?”
“Me? Oh, of course!” Pidge replies, her exaggerated tone not lost on Keith. She turns to him next, shark-toothed smile in place. “Did you, Keith?”
Feeling far too embarrassed, lovesick, and pissed off to say anything, Keith gives a noncommittal grunt and a single nod.
Lance narrows his eyes at Keith, glaring. “Of course you didn’t like it,” he says, tone moody and reproachful. He turns to Hunk and Pidge. “Why did you even bring him?”
“Aw, you know how Keith is,” Hunk assures kindly, that mischievous glint still in his eyes. “All, like, tsundere or whatever.”
Lance blinks. “Soon...deer ay?”
“Tsundere,” Keith snaps, his proper pronunciation clipped with annoyance.
Hunk smiles. “Yeah, that.”
“Tsundereeeee,” Pidge mimics, poking Keith’s shoulder.
“What the fuck is a tsundere?” Lance asks angrily, but Keith’s had enough. He turns around abruptly and marches to the door, hands balled into fists next to his hips.
Before he leaves, however, he pauses and turns around, mouth set in a hard line. Pointing at Hunk and Pidge in turn, he declares, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck...” He pauses at Lance, then, finger hovering uncertainly. Then, only a hint of devastated whine in his voice, finishes, “fuck.”
He runs away. Time to polish his emotional-support knife.
