Archive of Our Own

“God, Keith, do you know how much you suck?”

Keith ignores Lance, focusing instead of buffing his dagger, even though it’s already gleaming.

Lance, however, seems to take his silence as permission to continue unabashedly. “Because you do,” Lance informs him from across the room. “Suck. You suck a lot. Like, honestly, you’re the suckiest suck to ever suck.”

Just ignore him, Keith tells himself firmly, drawing his cloth soothingly along the blade. Patience yields focus. Even with whiny assholes like this.

“Seriously, Hunk,” Lance says, suddenly turning to his best friend. Even from the corner of his eye, it’s impossible to miss the way Hunk draws physically back of the statement, intending to stay uninvolved. “Have you ever seen someone who sucks as much as Keith does?”

“Oh, c’mon Lance,” Hunk fumbles, holding his hands up in front of him. “I—I mean, I don’t know if that really—”

“Because I haven’t,” Lance answers unperturbed. “It’s almost astonishing, really.”

Keith’s fingers clench against the cloth, though he purposefully unfurls them. If he’s not careful, he’ll wind up slicing both his rag and his fingers.

Pidge snorts from the far end of the couch, though she doesn’t bother to look up from her laptop. “And I’ve never seen such a sore loser….” The words are muttered under her breath—but not quietly enough to go unnoticed.

“Really, Pidge?” Lance asks. He sits up straighter. “Really? I’m the sore loser? Did you not see the way this asshole stole that last training hologram right out from under me? Because—I dunno—he sucks?”

Keith sets his dagger down on his lap a little harder than he means to. His teeth are grit, but he forces his jaw to loosen before he quietly says, “I didn’t steal anything.”

“Uh, yeah,” Lance says, tone dripping with sarcasm. “You did. I would have finally beat the training record! I was literally moving in to take the last hologram down and you stole it right out from under me.”

Keith finally turns his full attention to Lance in order to pin him with a glare. “We were doing a team exercise,” he informs Lance, a rather blunted edge creeping into his tone. “I still don’t understand how you can be so upset with me for having your back.”

“‘Having my back’!?!?” Lance all but screeches the words.

“Lance,” Hunk says quickly. His hands move forward to pat in a placating gesture on Lance’s shoulders. “C’mon, Keith’s right. He probably just didn’t realize—”

“Bull-fucking-shit, man!” Lance spits back. “He fucking knew.”

Of course Keith knew. How could he not have, with the way Lance kept rambling on and on and on, gloating about how he was finally going to beat the record. Keith’s record. But—

“I just moved on instinct,” Keith explains with a shrug. He turns his attention back to his blade and struggles to rein in the sarcasm building behind his lips. “Sorry for trying to protect your ass.”

He isn’t lying. He really had moved on instinct. Of course, he may have realized halfway through the motion that he was about to steal Lance’s record-breaking kill…. He may have also taken some slight, twisted pleasure in yanking that victory away from Lance.... But more than anything, he had done it to save them all from having to put up with Lance being completely insufferable and gloating for hours about setting the new record. That’s all.

Except Keith’s plan didn’t quite work out, since his final kill has left them all dealing with Lance’s angry tirade instead.

“‘Sorry for trying to protect your ass,’” Lance mimics back in a high pitched tone. “Oh yeah right, you’re so full of shit.” Lance’s leg is bouncing at an increasingly frenzied pace, speeding up as his sneer grows larger. “Well you know what, Keith?”

Lance waits for a response, and a small silence slowly stretches across the room. Keith steadily rubs his cloth up and down his blade, determined not to give Lance exactly what he wants even as his blood pounds more and more furiously in his ears.

Lance decides to push on, regardless.

“You. Suck.” Lance says definitively. “That’s what. I would have thought you’d be well aware of it by now, but maybe not. Hasn’t anyone ever told you before? Hasn’t anyone ever told you exactly how much you suck?”

The final, fraying thread snaps.

“Yeah, Lance,” Keith replies forcefully. He straightens up and stares the guy dead in the eye. “They actually have. Although none of the other guys ever seemed to mind that I sucked so much.” A small, angry smirk curls against Keith’s lips as he adds, “They all seemed to enjoy it.”

“Oh, ew Keith, c’mon,” Pidge replies, somehow managing to both laugh and groan at the same time.

Hunk has gone a bright shade of red and is covering his eyes, as though it will somehow block out the mental picture Keith has just painted for the room.

But Keith’s attention is entirely focused on Lance, whose mouth is flapping wordlessly, eyes unnervingly round. His copper skin has taken on a very satisfying, ruddy shade.

Keith raises his eyebrows and emphasizes his point with a blithe grin.

“Oh—oh yeah?” Lance asks, stumbling over the words. His cheeks are still very, very red. “I bet you think you’re just so great, don’t you, Keith?”

“I don’t think so,” Keith replies airly. He returns his attention to his dagger, twisting it in the light to admire the way it shines. “I know so.”

Lance’s mouth falls even further open. Spluttering, he says, “You… I can’t … I mean, honestly! You think that makes you amazing?” Lance crosses his arms firmly across his chest. “Because it doesn’t. Really, sucking dick isn’t that hard.”

Hunk groans, sinking further into the couch. “Oh my god, Lance, stop,” he whines. “Please, please stop.”

Keith’s expression falls flat. “Right,” he replies, not really believing his ears. “And you would know this because…?”

“Because I’m good at it, obviously,” Lance retorts. He’s blushing furiously now, although his posture reeks of that pure, determined confidence that is so absolutely infuriating and completely, utterly Lance.

Despite that air of confidence, Keith is finding this statement very hard to believe. Pidge must be similarly unconvinced, because she outright snorts at Lance’s response.

“What!?” Lance snips at her, piercing her with a glare. “I’m serious! I bet I’m loads better at sucking dick than Keith is.”

“Lance!” Hunk is sounding increasingly distressed and high pitched.

“I am,” Lance says insistently. “In fact, I’m sure of it.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Sure, Lance. You keep telling yourself that.”

“You don’t believe me at all, do you?” Lance demands. “But you should.”

Keith shrugs nonchalantly, refocusing on his blade once more as he redoes the knot at the base of its handle. “Honestly, Lance, I could care less about your dick-sucking abilities. I’m pretty sure that’s something we all would like to forget about.”

“Amen,” Pidge replies.

Lance makes an offended squawk. But before he can scrounge together enough of his wits to say something in return, the door to the lounge slides open and Shiro walks in.

“Alright, team, sorry to make you all wait,” Shiro says, attention fixed on the mobile holoscreen he’s holding. “I finally finished reviewing the video from today’s training session, and I think there’s a lot that we can all learn from it. We’ll go over… it….”

He trails off, glancing around uncertainly at the extreme variations in his teammates’ expressions. He sighs, raises an eyebrow, and asks, “What?”

“That’s great, Shiro,” Keith replies smoothly. He sets his dagger aside and turns his entire attention on their leader. “I think we could all use some more practice to make sure we don’t suck.”

Keith very purposefully keeps his gaze trained on Shiro, but he doesn’t miss the uneasy way that Lance shifts at the comment. Missing out on Lance’s expression doesn’t make the situation any less satisfying.

Shiro frowns at him. “I think that’s maybe a bit harsh,” he replies. “Nobody sucks.”

“No, really.” It’s a struggle to keep his face straight, but Keith prevails. “We all have room to improve. I’ll be the first to admit that I suck. A lot, actually.”

Pidge has broken down into silent laughter, and Hunk looks like he’s just stepped out of a careening fighter jet.

Keith is still very purposefully avoiding looking at Lance.

Shiro’s frown grows, and Keith is sure that the man realizes Keith is up to something. But there’s no way for him to call Keith out—after all, Keith hasn’t exactly said anything bad. At the surface level, all he’s done is criticize his own performance.

Shiro exhales a little stronger than is really necessary, shakes his head, then looks back down at the holoscreen. “Right. Well, Coran said it’s nearly dinner, so we’ll review the video feeds after.”

Keith nods, quickly gathering his things and standing up from the couch. He avoids Shiro’s questioning gaze as he heads towards the door. Still, even though he knows he shouldn’t, Keith can’t help but take a quick peek at Lance on his way out. The blue paladin is clearly staring at him with an incredulous expression, his cheeks still lightly flushed, although Lance hurriedly yanks his gaze away as soon as he notices Keith’s attention.

The extent to which Keith has managed to rattle Lance sends a far too satisfied thrill through his middle.

Lance continues to avoid looking his way all through dinner, instead glaring angrily at his plate of green goo.

It’s a twofold victory for Keith: First, because he managed to stick it to Lance. And second, because Keith doesn’t have to put up with Lance’s usual annoying rambling during the meal.

Keith’s a bit surprised, however, that Lance somehow manages to keep his lips zipped and locked in that twisted frown all throughout Shiro’s explanation after dinner as well.

It would almost be a little concerning…. Almost. If it wasn’t for the fact that Lance being quiet is a rare kind of treat. And the fact that Lance was being an annoying, whiny asshole in the first place. And the fact that Keith purposely doesn’t worry about Lance. At least, not beyond whether his teammate is well enough to function as part of the team. Not that he doesn’t care about Lance or anything. He just… y’know, tries not to think too hard about Lance in general. Because he always winds up getting frustrated and spending too much time thinking about Lance and his stupid, cocky grin, and trying to figure out what on Earth Keith had ever done to attract the guy’s idiotic, so-called “rivalry.” And all that does is leave Keith feeling overwhelmingly frustrated.

It’s just all around a bad situation.

Which is why Keith is almost relieved when Lance grabs his wrist and yanks him to the side of the hallway as the team disbands at the end of the meeting. Because at least that means Lance is done being weird.

Except Keith is very, very wrong.

“Listen,” Lance says haughtily, looking down his nose at Keith. “I don’t really appreciate the tone you took earlier.”

Keith blinks as his mind struggles to process Lance’s words. “You… my tone?” he asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.” Lance shoves a finger against Keith’s chest. “Your tone. You’re always acting like I’m all talk or something.”

Keith can feel the disbelief leaching into his expression. “I mean, maybe because you are?” he points out, not bothering to hide the sarcasm.

Lance’s face twists into the most outrageously offended expression Keith has ever witnessed. Seriously, is the guy’s face made of putty or something? How does it even move like that?

“I really don’t appreciate that,” Lance repeats forcefully. “How the fuck do you know that I’m not any good at giving head? Huh?”

“Oh my god,” Keith groans. He bangs his head back against the wall for good measure. “Are we really still talking about this?”

“Yes, okay! We’re still talking about this!” Lance gestures wildly with his hands. “You’re always so dismissive of me!”

“Lance,” Keith says, crossing his arms. “Let me make this perfectly clear: I do not care if you are good at sucking dick.”

“Yeah? Well I do!” Lance replies hotly. “I’m so fucking tired of you writing me off, dude! I’m good at it, and that’s that!”

Keith rolls his eyes. “Fine—fine. Let’s pretend just for one freaking moment that I’m humoring you and taking this entire situation seriously—which I’m not. Why should I even believe that you’re any good at it? There’s logically no reason for me to.”

“Uh, I dunno,” Lance hisses. He jabs his finger into Keith’s chest. Again. Which is really starting to piss Keith off. “Maybe because I’m bi!”

“Really?” Keith asks, his expression falling flat. “Because you told all of us that you didn’t figure that out until two months ago.” Keith raises one skeptical eyebrow. “Y’know, several months after leaving Earth.”

“And?” Lance asks stubbornly. Keith doesn’t miss the pink that is slowly starting to creep back into Lance’s cheeks.

“And?” Keith repeats incredulously. “You really expect me to believe that you’re good at sucking dick when you’ve known you’re into guys for all of two months!?”

Lance harrumps, turning to the side and crossing his arms haughtily. “Rude, Keith,” he replies. “First of all, plenty of people can have dicks, y’know—not just guys. And besides that, have you ever considered that maybe I knew I was good at it before I realized I was bi?”

There are just so many implications in that one little statement that Keith’s mind is beginning to short circuit. Because, seriously, is he hearing this correctly? Is Lance claiming to have gone down on enough dicks before he even realized he was bi to know that he’s good at it? Because first of all, what the fuck, Lance? How do you willingly suck off several dicks and not realize that you sort of kind of maybe might be into sucking dicks? And that’s not even getting into the whole Lance trying to school him on transphobia thing—as if Keith isn’t already aware that having a dick doesn’t automatically make you a guy.

Keith realizes his mouth has been working wordlessly for a little too long to be considered acceptable—especially considering the sly smirk Lance is giving him. He finally manages to say, “Whatever.” Then, biting off a groan, Keith adds, “There’s still literally no reason that I should believe you or care, okay? Maybe you’re good at giving head, maybe you’re not. I don’t care, Lance.”

Lance groans so loud that it literally sounds like a roar. “That’s the problem!” he says, suddenly beginning to pace. “You’re just not getting it. I wish I could just shut you up.”

Keith heaves a humorless laugh. “That makes two of us.”

“Oh, stuff it,” Lance growls, shooting Keith a nasty glare. “If I could, I would just—”

His words cut off so abruptly that Keith actually stands up a little straighter, watching Lance with a frown. “... uh?”

Lance blinks, then slowly looks over at Keith with a faint grin. It’s more than a little unnerving, and Keith suddenly has a very, very bad feeling.

“I could just prove it to you,” Lance points out.

Keith’s response dies on his tongue, because that is not at all what he was expecting Lance to say. “I… what?”

“What if I prove it to you?” Lance repeats, suddenly looking much happier. “Then you would have to believe me.”

Keith can feel all of the muscles in his face go utterly slack. “And how the fuck do you intend to prove that to me?”

Lance raises his eyebrows suggestively, confirming the ridiculous notion that Keith was desperately wishing he had somehow misunderstood.

“Uh, no,” Keith replies, shoving Lance away from him. “I am not letting you suck my dick.”

“Aw, Keith, c’mon,” Lance whines. He trails behind Keith as he begins to stride off down the hall. “It’s not like either of us has to enjoy it. I just want to prove my point!”

Keith splutters, feeling the heat creeping up his neck. “If I don’t enjoy it, wouldn’t that just prove that you’re wrong?”

The comment stops Lance in his tracks. But a second later he hops back into step to catch up with Keith. “Well, then, fine. You can enjoy it, and I can prove my point, and then we’re both happy.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not at all going to work,” Keith replies, not even bothering to look back at Lance.

“Oh, c’mon,” Lance groans. He speeds up just a little more, so that he’s walking right next to Keith. “I mean, you’re gay, right? Don’t you want a guy to suck your dick?”

Keith pins Lance with the most exasperated look he can muster. “I’m gay, not desperate.”

“Ouch,” Lance replies, dramatically placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me. Now you owe me one—guess I have no choice but to prove to you how great I am at giving head.”

“No,” Keith replies gruffly. “Now you have no choice but to leave me alone.”

“Keiiiiith,” Lance whines, drawing his name out so loud and long that it’s physically painful. “Let me blow you—”

His words are muffled as Keith quickly shoves his hand over Lance’s mouth. “Idiot,” Keith hisses, glaring at Lance. “Would you just drop it?”

God, they’re getting close to their bedrooms, and Lance, being Lance, is of course being obnoxiously loud. Keith does not want to have to explain to anybody why Lance is trying to blow him.

Lance makes a muffled, grumpy noise. Suddenly, there’s heat bleeding through his glove, followed by an insistent pressure, and—

Keith yanks his hand away and aggressively wipes the spit on his glove off on Lance’s jacket.

“—r mind,” Lance finishes, an evil grin splitting his lips. “I bet I could blow your mind.”

“What is wrong with you?” Keith hisses. “Haven’t you ever heard ‘no means no’? This is fucking sexual harassment.”

Lance’s brow furrows for half a moment, and then he shrugs. “Okay, but I’m only trying to prove a point.”

“Not a legitimate excuse,” Keith snaps, heading off down the hallway again. “It’s still sexual harassment.”

“Fine,” Lance replies as he catches back up again. He huffs and crosses his arms, and for half a moment Keith thinks that he’s actually going to drop it.

The joke, of course, is on him.

“I’ll just ask you politely, then,” Lance informs Keith. He clasps his hands together beneath his chin and stares up at Keith with a big pout. “Will you puh-lease let me blow you?”

Keith whirls on Lance. “I want you to listen very closely,” he says, clearly enunciating every word. “No.”

“God,” Lance whines. “C’mon—”

But Keith has had enough, thank you very much. He practically slams his hand on the control panel to his bedroom door, then turns and leaves Lance gaping at him.

“Keith!” Lance calls. He takes an agitated step forward. “Wait, Kei—”

Thankfully, his whining is cut abruptly short as the door slides closed, leaving Keith in blissful silence. For a moment he simply stands at the front of his bedroom and takes a long, deep breath. Then, groaning, he sinks onto his mattress.

What. The. Fuck.

Why does Lance have to be so—so—so fucking—impossible? Keith doesn’t care if Lance is into dicks or not. Okay? He really, really doesn’t. All he cares about is getting Lance to shut the fuck up. Which, admittedly, having a dick in his mouth might be a pretty good way to make that a reality.

But—! That’s not the fucking point here. The point is that Keith already spends plenty of effort trying not to think about Lance too much. And now he’s going to have to purposely try to put thinking about Lance’s mouth around his dick out of his mind. Because, as much as he wants to stop thinking about it, a certain someone apparently is dead set on pestering him about it.

Which… is weird, right? That Lance is so adamant about wanting to suck him off? Because it’s not like Lance seems particularly into the idea of sucking Keith’s dick in particular. But on the other hand, who fucking proves a point by sucking their self-proclaimed rival’s dick? It sounds like the plot to a really, really horribly done porno.

With a growl, Keith sets his knife under his pillow, then lays down in bed. Maybe if he gets some sleep, in the morning he’ll forget about this ridiculous stupidity.

It doesn’t quite work that way, however.

Keith would never admit it to anyone, but he winds up spending a sickening amount of time lying awake, unable to stop thinking about the whole thing. Thinking about Lance. How he’s annoying, that is. And dumb. Really, really dumb. And thinking about Lance winds up leading to thinking about Lance sucking dick, which leads to thinking about Lance sucking his dick. Which is not a thought that Keith needs to be having at the Altean equivalent to 3:17am. Or at any time of the day.

By the time morning finally drags its ass onto the scene, Keith is a pissed off wreck who hasn’t gotten nearly enough sleep. Not that it’s unusual for Keith to sleep rather fitfully, of course. He just usually isn’t quite this pissed off when he wakes up every day.

He grabs a quick helping of food goo from the kitchens, then makes his way off to the training deck. He’s gotta find some way to blow off this steam or he’s going to lose it on someone. Probably Lance, if he’s being honest. Who deserves it. But possibly someone else, too. And it’s not like anyone else deserves for Keith to lose it on them.

Keith tightens his grip on his bayard, then calls up the training holograms.

He pushes himself a little further than is perhaps wise. Keith knows this, and he doesn’t care. The extra strain is necessary to force his mind to go blank—force him to focus only on his own movements and those of the holograms. As he works through the training regimen, he can feel the tension in his shoulders slowly begin to wear away as his body is forced to focus its energy elsewhere.

He’s just gearing up for his fifth round when he feels a sudden, warm shift of air against his ear, and a quiet, sing-song voice whispers, “Let me suck your diiiick...”

Keith jumps, whirling on his toes to bring his bayard up to the neck of his attacker—

—who is Lance. Because of-fucking-course it’s Lance.

“You fucking idiot!” Keith hisses. He’s rather pleased to see that Lance’s eyes have gone quite round as they take in the blade pressed against his neck. “Are you trying to make me kill you!?”

“No,” Lance insists. His voice wavers ever so slightly, and the grim satisfaction in Keith’s chest expands that much further. But then Lance relaxes his worried gaze into a smooth grin and adds, “Just trying to convince you to let me go down on you.”

Now that he has worked off some of his restless energy, it finally occurs to Keith that Lance is probably just trying to get a rise out of him. Meaning that the more he gets worked up, the more Lance is likely to push him.

Keith sighs, allowing his bayard to transform back into its unarmed state and wiping the sweat from his forehead. Lance’s shoulders relax a fraction of an inch.

“Would you just drop it?” Keith asks, doing his best to keep his cool. “I don’t want you to suck my dick.”

“Oh, c’mon Keith,” Lance says, throwing an arm around Keith’s shoulders. “I’m just teasing you.”

See? Of course he wasn’t serious. There was no need for Keith to get so worked up.

“And trying to prove a point,” Lance adds with a sly grin. “Which is why you should let me suck your dick.”

Oh. Well, apparently not.

“Too bad,” Keith replies. He pushes a sniggering Lance away from his side. “You are not going to suck my dick. End of story.”

To his vast relief, Hunk chooses that particular moment to enter the training deck. Lance immediately straightens, suddenly paying 100% of his attention to Hunk and not Keith, as though he wasn’t practically begging to have Keith’s dick in his mouth five seconds prior.

“Hey, buddy! You ready to train?”

“Almost!” Hunk says, “Just let me go grab my bayard and I’ll be ready to go.”

Keith uses Hunk’s arrival as a chance to slip away, but not before Lance shoots him a saucy wink behind Hunk’s back.

Keith spends the rest of the day actively avoiding Lance. Because seriously, this is getting to be ridiculous. Just because Lance can suck Keith off doesn’t mean that he should. Just like how just because Keith can picture Lance’s lips stretched wide around his dick doesn’t mean that he should.

He really, really shouldn’t.

He reminds himself this repeatedly throughout the day. Not because his mind keeps wandering back to that particular mental image—of course not. But just to reinforce the point. He doesn’t even like Lance. Why would he fucking let the guy suck his dick?

He firmly believes this point, up until that night, when he suddenly wakes up gasping, his pants uncomfortably tight and slightly wet.

Because apparently his brain has other opinions. Ones that he really doesn’t want to acknowledge. Like thoughts of Lance’s tongue trailing along him. Or thoughts of Lance’s lips placing light kisses against his skin. Or thoughts of how warm and wet Lance’s mouth would feel—

Keith hates Lance, and he officially hates his dirty, no good, awful mind as well.

And he especially hates and refuses to admit that the strongest part of his dream—the thing that sticks out most vividly and still leaves his stomach simmering all too pleasantly—is that stupid, annoying, Cheshire cat grin looking up at him.

For a second night in a row, Keith barely gets any sleep.

The next morning, Keith is very groggy and exceedingly pissed with himself. But hey. He tries to reason that maybe the dream was just caused by stress. Maybe he’s just sexually pent up, and his mind is gladly attaching itself to the first viable option within several thousand lightyears.

That’s gotta be it. Because he doesn’t like Lance. At all. Sure, they’re teammates. And sure, he was really excited when they finally started working well together.

But the guy’s an asshole. He’s so annoying and whiny and always poking fun at Keith and saying stupid shit. Not to mention flirting way too much for his own good with anything that fucking moves. Including his own fucking teammates, apparently.

Keith slides down into a seat at the table, nodding wearily at Pidge, who looks similarly zoned out. He tries to focus on eating, but between his utter exhaustion and his harried thoughts, he’s barely even eaten a third of his plate by the time the rest of the team has filtered in for breakfast.

He blatantly avoids looking at Lance. Not because of last night—

Or, well… okay, yeah. Kind of because of last night. Because how the fuck is he supposed to look Lance in the eye after having a dream like that?

But, even more than that, he avoids looking at Lance because Lance is very obviously trying to catch his eye.

At first, Keith thinks maybe it’s just his paranoia making him think so. He keeps getting a weird, itching feeling that Lance is just … looking at him. But no, that’s actually what’s happening, since Keith briefly catches sight of Lance staring him down from the corner of his eye.

Well you know what? Keith isn’t gonna play this game. Not today. He resolutely focuses his gaze on his food goo, which is looking even less appetizing by the minute. Responds to Coran’s attempts at conversation in grunts and nods without giving in and allowing Lance to catch his eye. Purposely looks away from Hunk when the yellow paladin starts up a conversation with Lance. Through which Lance continues to stare at Keith.

There’s a brief moment when the itch finally stops. Keith glances quickly over at Lance to see that he has, indeed, finally looked away from him. Instead, he’s talking with Hunk. As Keith watches, Lance’s eyes crinkle and his lips widen into a huge, genuine grin as he pushes playfully against Hunk’s shoulder.

And oh.

Oh fuck.

That stupid smile.

The memories of last night’s dream come flying back in full force, nailing Keith dead in the chest. All because of Lance’s stupid, beautiful smile.

Lance catches sight of Keith’s attention. Before Keith can look away, Lance turns to him, fucking grins—goddammit—and slowly presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

And Keith is done. So, so done. He slams his palms flat against the table and stands up, taking his half-eaten plate of food goo back to the kitchen and ignoring the worried looks his teammates are giving him.

Fuck.

God—fucking—fuck.

F u c k.

So, yeah. Okay? Maybe the dream has some root in reality. Maybe Lance’s smile is beautiful. Maybe Keith can’t fucking stand the way it lights up his entire face, making his eyes shimmer under those gorgeous fucking eyelashes that are entirely wasted on that idiot of a man. Maybe Keith is ridiculously attracted to the rose-gold hue that warms Lance’s skin every time the idiot blushes.

But that still isn’t a good reason to let the asshole blow him. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of a good reason. It’s a really terrible reason. Because Lance is his teammate. And an idiot. And isn’t into him.

He really needs to hammer that last point home: just because Lance keeps pestering Keith to let him suck him off does not mean that Lance is into him. The idiot has made it annoyingly clear that he’s only interested in proving a point. It might be a really fucking stupid way of proving his point, sure. But, as Keith has already solidly established, Lance is a fucking idiot.

It’s not even like Keith would want Lance to be into him. He doesn’t. In fact, it would be really fucking great if Lance would just leave him alone. Maybe then Keith could knock some common sense back into his head and stop fucking swooning or whatever over the thought of his teammate.

Keith doesn’t necessarily have an issue with having a crush, per se. He’s had enough of those. Fuck, he’s done enough with other people not to necessarily lose his shit every time he realizes that he’s attracted to someone else. But Lance is…

Is…

Just no, okay?

Somehow, Keith manages to force the intrusive thoughts of Lance sucking him off out of his mind for a few blessed hours.

That smile, though? It just keeps right on fucking haunting him.

He winds up spending the morning wandering around the Castle halls, hoping that maybe just walking around in a place where Lance isn’t likely to find him will allow him to relax a little.

It doesn’t do much to ease his troubled mind, however. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees that grin. Every stray creak of the castle leaves him wondering if Lance will come around the next corner. Finally, with a defeated groan, Keith falls back against the wall and slides down to the floor, screwing his eyes shut.

Goddammit, he doesn’t like Lance. He doesn’t.

At some point, Keith must have fallen asleep again. He knows, because he’s dreaming again too. It’s one of those light kinds of dreams—the kind where he’s half-aware that it’s a dream, but also half-convinced that it’s not.

Lance is there again.

He’s not even doing anything particularly sexual in the dream. Well, aside from sitting on Keith’s lap. There is that, he supposes. But otherwise, they’re just … talking. And yet it’s still managing to turn Keith on, somehow? Because the promise is there. It’s in every smile Lance throws his way. Every slight wiggle as he adjusts his perch on Keith’s leg. Every elongated moment that their eyes catch on each other, and Lance’s sparkle with a joke shared just between them. And Keith just knows—the way he always just knows things in dreams—that at the end of it all, they’re gonna fuck.

Keith groans and rolls his head against the cold Castle wall, slowly coming to. God fucking fuck.

He opens his eyes to find Lance sitting on the floor against the wall opposite him, silently watching him.

That fucking startles Keith into full awareness, and he groggily scurries in an attempt to sit up straight. “What’re you…” he asks, voice merely a croak after his nap, “fucking…”

Lance shrugs. “Just sitting.”

A sudden, panicked thought occurs to Keith. He quickly looks down at his pants, then back up at Lance, who’s been sitting here while he’s been sleeping. “You didn’t—?” Keith can’t quite bring himself to finish that question, though he gestures awkwardly down at his pants.

“What? Oh god, no,” Lance replies hurriedly, a look of disgust creeping over his face. “You actually think I would fucking—” He splutters, frowns, then looks away. “I didn’t touch you. I’m not some kind of molester or something.”

Keith pins him with a disbelieving frown. “Dude, you’ve been fucking sexually harassing me for the past two days.”

“I told you I was just teasing oh my god,” Lance snaps back. “Besides, you’re the one who fucking started it with your whole ‘All the other guys seemed to like it’ bit.”

Keith gapes at him. “Because you wouldn’t stop telling me how much I suck!”

Lance scoffs and waves a hand dismissively. “Details, details.”

Keith is ready to argue back when Lance suddenly leans forward and stands up. Keith watches him with growing suspicion as Lance walks over to him. Lance, seeing his expression, sighs and holds out his hand. “C’mon, aren’t you sore from napping on the cold ground?” He waits for Keith to take his outstretched hand, then sighs again when Keith continues to watch him with a confused look. “Oh my god, seriously, I’m getting a crick my neck just watching you.”

Keith takes Lance’s hand, willing the straggling memories from his half-dream to fucking leave him alone. He’s half expecting Lance to let go of his hand partway up or some shit like that, but Lance simply helps haul Keith to his feet.

He has the niggling suspicion that this might be Lance’s way of trying to apologize for everything—y’know, smoothing it all over and trying to take their bickering back down to about a level five instead of a level twelve. Keith is more than willing to accept this not-apology if it means they can go back to normal.

That is, of course, until Lance grins at him, slings an arm around Keith’s shoulder, and says, “Great. Now when you gonna let me blow you, buddy?”

Keith groans, sliding out from Lance’s hold. “Can’t you just fucking drop it?” he asks, perhaps with a bit more desperation than is wise. He just really needs Lance to stop teasing him. Especially because his heart rate is still rather elevated after that stupid half-dream.

Lance skips ahead a few paces—and yup, definitely not helping, since the movement causes his jacket to flutter back and gives Keith a quick glimpse of the way his jeans hug his ass a little too tightly. Keith can still fucking feel the way that ass felt against his leg in the dream just now.

Then Lance is turning on him with that sly, impossible grin. “I don’t know, Keith,” he says, teasing. “Can’t you just fucking let me blow you?”

He’s not serious, Keith tells himself firmly. He’s not serious, and even if he were, you can’t possibly say yes.

Because god damn, does he want to say yes.

“No,” Keith says, pushing Lance out of the way as he heads down the hall. Lance’s laugh echos off the metal walls and rattles Keith’s heart clean out of his chest.

“What have you got to lose out of this?” Lance asks. He bumps his hip into Keith’s, making him stumble. “If I’m better than you—which I am—then you get a really freaking phenomenal blow job out of this, y’know? That can’t be a bad thing.”

“Lance,” Keith groans. He closes his eyes for good measure. Because it would be. A bad thing, that is. Not phenomenal. Well, okay, it probably would be phenomenal, too. But—no.

“Are you scared I’m going to be better than you?” Lance asks. Keith’s eyes are still closed, but he can fucking hear Lance’s grin oozing through his words.

“No—I just—”

Lance chuckles again, and the sound makes Keith shiver. “C’mon, I know you’re curious.”

“No, Lance, I’m really not.”

Oh my god, he really is. And he still can’t bring himself to just fucking look Lance in the eye.

Their bedrooms are approaching ahead, and Keith has never been more relieved in his life. He can just slip into his room, jack off—by himself—to let off some of the heat that is clinging a little too tightly under his collar, and try to forget about Lance fucking McClain.

“Keith~”

Lance fucking sings his name like it’s his favorite tune or something. With a groan, Keith finally stops dead.

“When are you going to fucking stop this?” he growls.

Lance meets his glare with a sly smile. “When you finally let me blow you, of course.”

And—god. That smile. It should be fucking illegal.

They’re right by their bedrooms. Keith could literally take two strides and enter his room. He could just put an end to all of this—for now, at least.

But what if Lance doesn’t stop? Keith’s been holding out on the hope that Lance will eventually just get tired and give this stupid schtick up. Except now he’s starting to have doubts. How long is he going to be able to put up with Lance literally trying to seduce him? For another day? For another week? What if he never stops?

Keith can’t—

There’s no fucking way he could—

He can’t hold out. He doesn’t know if he can take even one more day of Lance throwing himself at him.

“Lance…”

And fuck, his voice came out sounding way breathier than it had any right to just now.

Lance leans in close, and Keith goes rigid. He’s still smiling that insufferable grin as he brings his lips close to Keith’s ear and whispers, “C’mon, Keith… let me suck you off.”

Keith is a weak man. A very, very weak man. He is so fucking disgusted with himself as he looses a shuddery exhale and finally says, “... fine.”

Lance straightens up, eyes round with surprise. And oh fuck. He really was just teasing this entire time, wasn’t he? He even fucking said so. Why did Keith have to go and make things awkward? Why couldn’t he have just kept his mouth shut until he got into the privacy of his room? Why—

Lance’s eyebrows pull low as he frowns. “Are you pulling my leg?” he asks slowly.

Keith opens his mouth, then pauses. Because that was not the response he was expecting. He was expecting for Lance to get all weirded out on him—push him backwards, laugh awkwardly. That type of reaction.

When Keith doesn’t respond, Lance’s frown deepens. “Are you just saying that because you’re trying to shut me up?” he asks, looking more concerned by the moment. “Because fuck, dude. I know I’ve been a pest, but I’m seriously not trying to pressure you into anything you don’t wanna do.”

Keith’s mouth drops open. Lance thinks—that he’s—that he’s somehow cornered Keith into giving in? First, that implies that Lance’s offer is totally serious. And second, that also implies that Lance can’t quite believe that Keith would want him to suck him off. After all of this incessant nagging over the past two fucking days.

God, Keith has a thing for a complete idiot.

Oh, fuck. Keith has a thing. For Lance.

But even more ground-shattering is the realization that Lance seemingly actually wants to go down on him. The very idea is setting the entire world spinning at a breakneck pace and pumping something akin to giddy confidence into Keith’s veins.

Somehow, Keith manages a taunting grin. “What?” he asks. “You trying to back out after all that?”

“No!” Lance says quickly, his face turning that charming shade of red. “I just am trying to be a decent person and make sure I’m not peer pressuring you into something you don’t wanna do.”

Keith’s grin grows. “I think you’re just scared.”

“Oh, fuck you, man,” Lance replies sourly, crossing his arms.

Keith cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean ‘suck me’?”

Lance’s mouth works furiously. Then he grabs Keith’s hand and drags him past Keith’s door and straight to his. Keith barely has time to realize exactly what is happening as Lance slaps the hand scanner and yanks Keith through the open doorway.

As soon as they’re inside, Lance pushes Keith over toward his bed. “Sit.”

Keith can’t help the antagonizing smirk that flitters across his lips, even as his stomach successfully ties itself into a hundred different knots all at once. “Uh, shouldn’t I maybe take my pants off first?” he asks smugly. “And you’re not being very seductive.”

Lance closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath, and god even just watching the way his chest slowly rises and falls is leaving Keith dizzy. But then his eyes open and zero in on Keith, and the fumbling, embarrassed Lance is gone.

Lance slowly crosses the room to where Keith’s standing. And Keith? Keith is frozen in place by those unnervingly clear, blue eyes. Fuck, he pushed Lance, and now he’s getting exactly what he asked for, apparently.

And it’s going to be the death of him.

It is, Keith thinks, a good way to go. A very good way.

Lance comes to a stop directly in front of Keith, his eyes roaming over his face and coming to rest on his lips. Keith’s pulse fucking jumps as Lance’s gaze focuses on them, his mouth parted ever so slightly.

Literally all of Keith jumps when Lance’s hands suddenly find their way to his jeans. They make quick work of his button and zipper, all while Lance’s eyes continue to eye-fuck his lips.

Once the zipper’s down, Lance finally looks back up, meeting Keith’s gaze head on. For half a second, Keith is convinced that Lance is going to lean in and kiss him. Something that Keith has never even considered before now. Which is a woeful oversight on his part, because now that his mind is taking this idea and running with it, he’s finding that he would very much be okay with Lance kissing the fuck out of him, and honestly—

Lance’s fingers curl around the waistband of Keith’s jeans and pull down, and suddenly Lance is going down, too, dropping to his knees as he yanks Keith’s pants halfway down his legs in one clean movement. Which, seriously? Fuck. Apparently Lance does know what he’s fucking doing, and Keith is about to experience the most amazing death.

The action leaves Lance kneeling with his face hovering just above the very blatant tent in Keith’s boxer-briefs. Lance’s eyes take a moment to roam over that as well before he glances back up to Keith with a self-satisfied grin. “Is that a knife in your pocket?” he asks suggestively. “Or are you just happy to—”

“Oh my god, Lance, shut up.” Keith lets his head fall back on a groan. Leave it to Lance to fucking ruin the mood.

The worst part is that Lance’s crappy pickup line has left Keith’s heart fluttering with barely-suppressed delight. Which is not the reaction he should ever be having to crappy pickup lines. Especially not Lance’s. Seriously, fuck this guy.

But then Lance’s fingers are curling in his waistband again—this time of his briefs—and Keith’s heart jumps right back up into his throat. Lance is much gentler this time, slowly tugging the elastic material over the curve of Keith’s ass and watching all too closely as Keith’s erection finally, finally springs into the cool, open air.

And Lance fucking runs his tongue over his bottom lip, oh fucking lord.

Keith is finding it exceedingly difficult to breathe as Lance places both hands on his hips and presses for him to shuffle backward toward the bed—a feat that is kind of difficult, actually, given that Keith’s pants and briefs are still firmly wrapped around his calves. He manages to half stumble, half scuffle the short distance, until his heels hit the bed and his knees give out. He sits down on the mattress hard, completely unable to take his eyes off of Lance, whose own eyes are still unwaveringly focused on his dick.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lance asks again. Except his eyes are still focused on Keith’s dick. He’s talking to Keith’s dick. Although, to be perfectly honest, if Keith’s dick could respond, it would be a resounding affirmative, so.

Keith’s fingers curl in Lance’s bedsheet. Fuck, he’s on Lance’s bed, why is this only just now occurring to him? He takes a deep breath, then says through gritted teeth, “This is very okay, I promise.”

Lance glances up quickly, and whatever he sees in Keith’s face must be convincing enough—it had better fucking be, Keith is about to lose his shit if Lance doesn’t get his mouth on Keith’s dick in the next three-point-two seconds—since he gives Keith a quick nod. The look on his face is … curious. Like a man about to dive off a fucking cliff or something.

But then next thing he knows, Lance’s mouth is wide open and closing around the head of his dick and oh. Fucking. Lord—

It’s been awhile, okay? They’ve been out in space for months, and even before that he was holed up in the desert trying to track down the mystery of Blue. So it’s kind of been a real long time since anyone has given Keith head.

So yeah, he had forgotten exactly how overwhelming the heat and the slick wetness and the slide of skin against skin are. Keith bites back a small groan, willing himself not to thrust just yet—although maybe, if Lance actually is as good as claims, that’s something that can start happening. Preferably soon. Because fuck Keith really needs to move his hips.

A bit to his surprise, Lance just keeps going, diving down until he’s got half of Keith’s dick in his mouth. Which—it feels good, of course. His dick is in a fucking mouth. In Lance’s mouth. But at the same time, Lance hasn’t quite built up enough spit yet, making the entire experience rather, well, drier than is strictly comfortable.

Lance pulls back and licks sloppily, before going straight back down and just. Okay, fuck, yeah, it’s wet and hot and all, but also… now it’s kind of too wet? Or maybe more like, wet, but not in the right places?

And Lance is moving kind of fast, and sucking, like, really hard. Like, dude, you’re gonna suction off my dick hard. Which, again: Keith’s dick. Lance’s mouth. It’s still overwhelming and Keith is turned on.

But also, y’know, remarkably less so than he had been maybe fifteen seconds ago.

After the fourth pump of Lance’s mouth, Keith finally manages to find enough of his voice to ask, “... Lance?”

Lance lifts up with a pop, which is exactly what Keith is talking about, okay? Because that’s fucking hot. Except the blowjob is … very fucking not. Lance wipes the spit away from his mouth and looks at Keith questioningly, face flushed.

Keith struggles to find the best way to phrase this. Because he doesn’t want to hurt Lance’s feelings, but…

“Dude, you legitimately suck at giving head,” Keith blurts out.

Oh-fucking-well. Guess that’s the route he’s going with.

Lance’s flush deepens. Sensing an impending, total awkwardness, Keith quickly asks, “How many blowjobs have you actually given in your life?”

Lance’s gaze falls to the floor, his shoulders shifting uneasily. “Uh… counting you?”

Oh, Jesus.

Lance’s head dips a bit lower as he mumbles, “... one.”

“Jesus Christ,” Keith breathes, struggling to believe his ears. Not that he really needs any more proof to convince him than Lance’s very unpracticed attempt. “Are you serious?” he asks incredulously. “After all that bragging and you’ve never even—”

“Yeah, okay, I know,” Lance cuts in, still staring at the floor.

“Two whole days?” Keith asks. His brain is still finding this difficult to believe. Except, at the same time, this is Lance, so maybe he really shouldn’t be so fucking surprised. “Relentlessly? And you were just talking out of your ass the whole time—”

“I know.” Lance pushes his way to his feet, his face bright red. He crosses his arms defensively, studying the ground for all it’s worth. “I didn’t think you’d—I mean, sure, I was kind of hoping—but why would you ever let me—”

He has, Keith decides, let Lance suffer enough. Which is actually pretty fucking merciful of him, really, when you consider the amount of shit Lance has put him through over this whole ordeal.

“Hey,” he says quietly. When Lance doesn’t respond, Keith reaches out and takes one of Lance’s hand and repeats, “Hey.”

Lance’s eyes finally flicker to Keith’s, which he will take as a victory.

“It’s fine,” Keith assures him.

The look on Lance’s face says that he isn’t buying that for a second. “Really?” he asks, nose scrunching up. “But—”

“It’s fine,” Keith repeats firmly. Then, a grin inching across his lips, he adds, “I guess I’ll just have to show you how it’s done.”

Keith isn’t quite sure how it’s possible for Lance to turn even more red. But he does, his entire face and neck flaming. Grin widening, Keith swiftly tugs Lance down to the bed, where he lands with a flop. Keith takes a couple moments to kick his pants completely off of his ankles, then quickly twirls around, crawls onto the bed, and backs Lance up toward where his pillow lies at the head.

Unable to help himself, Keith teasingly says, “Let me blow your mind.”

Lance flings his forearm across his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut as he nods. Too. Fucking. Adorable. Fuck this man—seriously, what right does he have to be both overwhelmingly sexy and adorable? He just gave Keith the worst blowjob Keith can imagine and Keith is still about to die of a fucking heart attack.

Wasn’t Keith supposed to, like, hate this guy or something? Because he kind of still does, but in a way that feels a lot more like fond affection than actual hatred. Which—fuck.

Keith crouches over Lance and undoes the button to his jeans. Then, because Lance isn’t the only one who can be a little shit, Keith leans forward and uses his teeth to slowly drag Lance’s zipper down, keeping his eyes on Lance’s the entire time.

“Oh fuck,” Lance breathes, thumping his head back against the pillow.

The grin that curls across Keith’s lips is entirely involuntary—he couldn’t stop it even if he tried. He’s pretty sure that he is, in fact, going to blow Lance’s mind, if Lance is reacting like this before he even fucking starts.

Keith nudges at Lance to lift his hips, then tugs his jeans down some. He raises an eyebrow when he sees Lance’s boxers.

“Really?” he asks, eyeing the shorts. Unlike Lance, he’s not focused on the rather obvious tent. Instead, his attention is fixated on the material, which boasts a pattern of cartoon kittens.

“Hey,” Lance says defensively. He shoves his hands down in a very poor attempt to cover them—especially considering that Keith is kind of entirely focused on Lance’s crotch at the moment.

Keith grasps Lance’s hands and tugs them away to get a better look. “You mean this entire time you’ve been fighting the Galra empire… in kitten boxers?”

Lance’s swats Keith’s hands off of his own. “First of all, they’re adorable, okay? And they were a gift from my little sister, so you can shut the hell up.”

“Oh…” Okay, well now Keith feels like a jerk. “That’s, uh… really sweet,” he fumbles. “That you still have the gift your sister gave you, I mean.”

Lance rolls his eyes, bringing his hands back up to hide the blush that has never quite left his face. “Yeah, well it’s not like I had much of a choice or anything. I was wearing them the day we found Shiro.”

“No, no,” Keith assures him. “It’s cute.”

And it is. Just… fuck, how the hell is he supposed to mouth Lance through the boxers his little sister got him? Well, fine. Scratch that plan. Keith snags his fingers under the elastic and works them down to where he left his jeans part way down Lance’s thighs.

He pauses for a moment to take in the sight of Lance’s flushed dick, which is straining toward his stomach. Blood pumping furiously, Keith leans over and slowly, slowly traces the tip of his tongue around the head, drinking in both how smooth it feels dragging against him and the way Lance’s hips squirm as he hisses.

Then, still grinning, Keith licks his lips, savoring the first, slightly bitter taste of precum as he pulls back. He doesn’t fail to notice how very hard Lance is breathing. He’s pretty sure Lance is purposely trying to keep his breathing even, but it’s obvious just how heavily and rapidly his chest is rising and falling, and it only fuels Keith’s satisfaction that much more.

Keith slides back a touch, shifting first one knee and then the other, being sure to give his hips a little extra sway as he repositions. Then he returns to Lance’s boxers and jeans, grabbing both and resuming the task of extricating Lance from them.

He drinks in the sight of Lance’s legs, watching as they’re revealed inch by inch. They’re just so fucking lithe. What the hell. Keith marvels as the muscles beneath that warm, coppery skin jump with each stray brush of his knuckles. It’s not even that Keith has never noticed how very pleasant Lance’s legs are. Or how pleasant any of his other features are, for that matter. (There’s a difference between noticing and acknowledging, okay?) It’s just that normally these facts are easily obscured by Lance’s tendency to open his mouth and spew utter bullshit.

But right now, Lance is being uncharacteristically quiet, and Keith is glad to make up for all of those missed opportunities to fully admire Lance’s physique.

Once he’s finally got Lance’s pants off, Keith simply drops them somewhere to the the side—his gaze is still too closely glued to Lance’s fucking gorgeous legs. He ghosts his hands along them, starting near Lance’s bony ankles, the callouses on his hands just barely skimming against Lance as he slowly slides up and up and up. The light hairs tickle between Keith’s fingers, and he can’t help but marvel at how warm and so unnervingly smooth Lance’s skin is—smooth, that is, until a wave of goosebumps pucker into little bumps under his touch.

“Keith...”

Oh, fuck. Lance’s voice is both a whine and a demand, breathless and reedy and lethal.

Keith doesn’t respond—just continues on his path, pressing his fingers down with a touch more pressure as he reaches the more pliable expanse of Lance’s thighs. Lance draws in a particularly sharp breath, and Keith squeezes gently, scooping his hands down to cup the underside of Lance’s legs and feeling his muscles tense in surprise.

“Fuck, Keith,” Lance repeats. There is definitely more demand in his tone this time. “Just—fucking—get on with it.”

Keith almost makes a quip. After all, for someone with no experience, it would probably behoove Lance to settle down and take notes. But he stays his tongue, instead trailing his fingers teasingly up along Lance’s sides before bringing them to rest at the divots of his hipbones. God, how can one person be so sharp and boney while also simultaneously smooth and supple?

He allows himself one last, quick detour and lightly rakes his teeth along one of Lance’s hipbones, which elicits a faint, surprised yelp. Keith glances up to shoot Lance a pleased, wolfish grin at this response, meeting his flushed gaze briefly before quickly diving down and enveloping the head in his mouth in one fell swoop.

Lance moans, hips jutting up, and Keith is forced to shift his weight to keep Lance’s ass firmly planted against the mattress. He keeps the slight, insistent pressure on Lance’s hips steady as he begins to suckle.

It feels good—as he’s said, it’s been awhile since Keith’s had the opportunity to mess around with anybody. He takes a moment to just enjoy the mesmerizing feel of his lips slowly easing back and forth over the soft head. He’s salivating heavily, purposely leaving as much spit behind as he can to get things going. Then, glancing up to watch Lance’s expression, Keith runs his tongue firmly over his slit.

Lance’s hips redouble their struggle against Keith’s hold, eyes squeezing shut as his mouth opens around an even louder moan. Keith swipes his tongue again, then again, lapping up another few beads of precum and enjoying the way Lance writhes.

Then, saliva pooling in his mouth, Keith finally drags his tongue down Lance’s full length.

“Shit,” Lance moans. He attempts to say something else, but cuts off with a faint grunt and a sharp inhale. As Keith curls his tongue around the base and licks his way back off, Lance chokes on a gasp and manages to whine, “Keith—!”

Fuck, Lance is loud. Why is this even a surprise? And, more importantly, how is Keith so ridiculously turned on by this discovery? He has a flittering concern for what excuse to use if anyone overhears them. But the thought is quickly lost as Lance whines even louder, sending a dizzying thrill reeling through Keith’s head.

Keith takes the time to ensure that he has coated Lance’s length liberally, pausing here and there to press open mouthed kisses. Finally satisfied, he licks one final trail back up to the tip. Lance’s cock twitches in response and jumps out from under his tongue, taking Keith off guard. He spares Lance a triumphant smirk and is pleased to find Lance biting his bottom lip white. It’s a good look on him.

Keith lifts his eyebrows lazily and then goes down slowly, mouth drawing wide as he takes in more and more of Lance’s dick. As he moves, his nose is met with the faint scent of sweat. It’s heavy and thick and heady all at once, and Keith’s mouth waters, because it smells exactly as Lance’s skin tastes: salty and deliciously addictive.

Once he’s sure that Lance is good and wet, Keith slowly slides his way back up to the tip.

“Fuck—”

Eases back down.

“Fuck.”

Manages to get even further this time on the tail end of his smooth glide.

“Ohhhhh—”

Hears his heart hammering in his ears, drowning out everything except Lance’s stupidly, wonderfully loud mouth.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh—”

Keith settles into a rhythm, enjoying the smooth friction as his mouth is pumped full with each downward stroke. The steady repetition thrums pleasure through his veins and makes his gut churn with a delightful heat as he drinks in Lance’s moans and endless stream of expletives. He does his best to breathe evenly through his nose, his fingers grazing against the well-trimmed hair framing the base of Lance’s cock and scratching gently against the coarse, prickly patch with each measured inhale.

Lance, on the other hand, is panting openly. Keith manages to tease a stray gasp from him as he sucks in his cheeks just a touch tighter. The move causes Lance’s hips to strain even further in their attempt to meet Keith’s bobbing mouth, with enough force to actually lift an inch off of the bed. Keith’s forearms are beginning to burn a bit from maintaining the constant downward pressure to keep Lance in place.

Lance’s fingers suddenly find their way into Keith’s hair and curl, yanking tiny pinpricks of pleasure along Keith’s scalp. But apparently Lance isn’t quite sure what to do with his hands—he urges Keith’s head down, only to jerk in surprise and suddenly switch to a simple, steady upward pull instead. The abrupt, confused change causes Keith to chuckle, his mouth stuffed full of Lance’s dick. He half expects for Lance to snap at him, but it must feel particularly good, because instead Lance fucking mewls.

For half a moment, Keith entertains the thought of easing up on Lance’s hips… but to be perfectly honest, he’s a bit hesitant to give Lance free rein. After all, Lance isn’t the most experienced, and Keith is a bit out of practice. But Keith is pretty sure that he can handle whatever pressure Lance’s hands can throw his way.

He pops off with a slick smack, nudging his head up against Lance’s hands.

“Go ahead,” Keith assures him and woah. Apparently he’s a bit more breathless than he realized. “Push as much as you want.”

Lance groans, nodding fervently as he readjusts his fingers and wrings his fists into an even tighter grasp on Keith’s hair. Keith can’t help the soft groan that slips past his lips at the sharp pressure. “Yeah,” he says hoarsely, his eyes falling closed. “Just like that.”

“Jesus,” Lance whines. His grip tightens a fraction further. “Please, I need—please.”

Keith is quick to oblige this time. He returns to his task, groaning as Lance’s hands urge his mouth down further along his length. God, Lance’s cock is searing and just so, so smooth in his mouth, easily crowding out any spare space, overpowering. It’s intrusive in the best possible way, and Keith finally just lets go. Somewhere between the second and fifth bob, his movements somehow lose their calculated edge, his muscles rocking on autopilot with the very welcome direction from Lance.

Lance’s fingers are relentless. They stay buried, hard and fast, in Keith’s hair. The pressure of his tugs is steady, pulling down, down, down with an all too pleasant weight on the sides of Keith’s scalp, then smoothly shifting up, up, up with a burst of pin pricks that, coupled with the cram of Lance’s cock in his mouth, leave Keith’s eyes watering. Honestly? It’s way fucking sexy.

Keith realizes belatedly that a rather excessive drop of saliva has worked its way past his lips and down his chin, tracing a warm, all too wet line across his skin that quickly begins to cool. His eyes follow as a second rivulet slowly, slowly works its way down the curve where Lance’s thigh meets his hip.

Keith makes a halfhearted attempt to suck at least some of it back in, but all this manages to accomplish is increasing the hold his cheeks have on Lance’s cock. Lance whimpers loudly in response, his fingers twisting deliciously in Keith’s hair. It’s not exactly the effect that Keith intended, but the lilting sound of Lance’s strained voice is enough compensation that Keith can’t find it in himself to be concerned.

The tempo’s picked up at some point. Keith isn’t sure when exactly it ramped up, but all at once he suddenly is aware that Lance’s cock is quite literally pistoning into his mouth, reaching further and further until—

Keith jolts with a choked off hrrk—yanks back as his throat forcibly attempts to push everything up and out.

“Oh shit, man—!” Lance sounds an amusing mix of mortified and blissed out. He attempts to pull Keith up by the hair, his mouth running at lightspeed. “I’m so, so sorry—oh my god—are you—”

But, uh? Hell fucking no. Keith has come this far, and he’s not going to let a little gag reflex get in the way of what is amounting to the best afternoon in his entire life. Or, at the very least, the best afternoon since he was forcibly whisked away from Earth via sentient-cat-robot-battleship.

His mouth never quite makes it off of Lance, his neck muscles straining against Lance’s concerned yank. He manages to take a moment with his mouth wrapped slack around the head of Lance’s dick as his throat settles. Then, eyes drifting closed, he eases himself right back down.

“Keith—shit, wait—!”

Keith hums his protest, fingers pressing insistently into Lance’s hips. Because, seriously. He’s fine.

Well, okay. If he’s being entirely honest, his jaw is starting to hurt. A little bit. But the low grade burn is actually kind of okay with Keith. It’s not necessarily comfortable by any means, but the ache is just one more sensation on top of everything else, echoing and compounding the not quite comfortable ache of his own neglected erection.

So yeah, he’s fine.

Besides, his insistent hum seems to have successfully obliterated any of Lance’s lingering concerns, if Lance’s rather vocal pants are any indication. Like, very vocal. Increasingly so.

The volume and length of Lance’s series of whimpered “Haaas” and “Hooos” and not quite bitten off groans swell, and Keith is hit with a sudden and strong sense of keen satisfaction. Because holy shit, Lance is almost there, isn’t he? It sure fucking sounds that way. The straining of his hips is growing erratic and even more intense, fingers curling even tighter around the strands they hold until it legitimately hurts.

It sets Keith off, his pumps turning sloppy and hurried, sucking Lance with everything he’s got until Lance’s tugs turn utterly frantic.

“K—Keith—!” Lance pants around a groan. “Fuck, man I’m—I’m gonna—”

It’s obvious from his urgent tugging that Lance is highly concerned with coming in Keith’s mouth. Keith, on the other hand, is very much not concerned. So much so that he finally lets up on Lance’s hips, not even caring as they jump forward once, twice in a hurried frenzy. For a moment, the inescapable intrusion of Lance’s dick squeezes everything else completely out of Keith’s awareness, black and white spots suddenly crowding his vision—

Then the strong, salty taste of Lance’s warm cum is flooding his mouth, liberally coating the back of his tongue as Lance’s cock twitches relentlessly against his lips. A long, cracked moan rips itself from Lance’s throat and reverberates through the room.

Keith’s hands find their way to Lance’s ass, petting and supporting as his hips continue to rock with slowing sways. Keith’s not quite sure how he manages to keep his own movements calm and relatively controlled—his mind feels like the aftermath of a fireworks show, and he’s not even the one who came.

He swallows quickly and repeatedly in an attempt to spare himself the taste. (Keith may enjoy sucking dick, but he’s never quite managed to enjoy the flavor, and the last thing he needs is to shoot Lance a sour grimace the moment he pulls off of him.)

Lance’s hips finally slow, and he sags heavily in Keith’s grip. Keith doesn’t fight against this new weight, instead easing down as Lance does and carefully allowing Lance to slide free from his lips.

He can’t help but note that he’s panting nearly as hard as Lance is. But Keith doesn’t let this deter him from donning a highly satisfied smirk as Lance’s eyes crack open just enough to look up at him.

“And that is how it’s done,” Keith says, lips twitching. It comes out sounding far more breathless and wrecked than is strictly acceptable…. But considering the current situation, Keith’ll take it. Especially given Lance’s hiccuped snort and half-hearted attempt to smack Keith’s arm. Grin widening and eyes narrowing, Keith adds, “Pretty sure I win.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance breathes, voice petering out into an airy groan. His eyes droop closed once more, and Keith is abruptly struck by just how beautiful he looks. Because damn, is Lance beautiful. Especially completely fucked out. Especially because Keith did that. He did that. Coaxed the bright, somewhat blotchy red that currently resides under 90% of Lance’s warm, copper skin. Worked the beads of sweat across his forehead and chest. Left him fighting for breath and just…

The exhilarating pride is buzzing pleasantly just below Keith’s skin, tingling against his lips as he surveys the graceful curves of Lance’s face. He realizes with a thrilling, sickening jolt that he could get used to this—that they’ve barely even finished and he already wants to see more.

Lance’s eyes slide back open, making Keith’s heart lurch painfully in his chest. Lance takes a deep breath, then slowly pushes himself up into sitting, never once looking away from Keith’s gaze. For a heart-stopping moment, Keith is once again sure Lance is going to kiss him. He’s ready—or, well, he’s very much not, but he is also so very not opposed, and—

“Fine,” Lance breathes raggedly. His voice is so much quieter than before, a sudden change that leaves Keith hanging onto the short word. “You win. So…” Lance leans even closer, until they’re nose to nose. “Since you’re obviously so good at giving head … why don’t you teach me?”

Lance’s grin should be illegal, considering the way it utterly rips Keith’s heart clear from his ribcage. Lance nudges Keith toward the mattress, and Keith falls backward before his mind really has a chance to catch up. There’s no break—the next moment Lance is hovering above Keith’s hips.

Lance licks his lips hesitantly and glances up at Keith. Then, gaze firming, he says, “Tell me how you like it, pretty boy.”

Keith opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. Lance is close enough that Keith can feel his heavy breaths glance across the too sensitive skin of his flushed head. His wet, bitten lips twist into a growing smirk, and Keith silently shouts at himself to say something.

He swallows some moisture back into his mouth, hesitates, then takes a deep breath.

“Slow.”

Lance’s eyebrows raise in a very obvious question. Keith sucks in another, slightly more controlled breath. “It’ll be easier if you go slow.”

Lance’s questioning glance slowly morphs into a look of pure consternation—the stupidly cute idiot is thinking way too hard about this. Keith bites off a chuckle and tries to ignore the invasive warmth that floods his chest.

“Try—”

Oh god. Is he actually doing this? Is he actually going to fucking talk Lance through giving him a blowjob? The thought alone sends a pulse through his already straining cock.

Keith swallows, then tries again. “Try licking it,” he suggests quietly.

He keeps his eyes trained on Lance, watching as a new wave of light red courses through Lance’s glowing cheeks. This guy is absolutely ridiculous. They’ve already gotten this far—Lance literally just finished coming in Keith’s mouth all of sixty seconds ago. What the fuck is he blushing for now?

Even so, Lance’s gaze remains firmly determined. He leans in, shooting Keith another confident grin—though Keith doesn’t miss the slight, hesitant shift of his shoulders. His hands hover for a moment before steadily gripping Keith’s hips. Keith shifts under his weight, relishing the mounting pressure as Lance’s fingers curl into the muscle on either side of his ass.

Keith can see the moment Lance’s attention slides from his face down to his dick. Feels Lance’s grip tighten. Holds his breath as Lance bends over, tongue darting out to give the head a slow, experimental kitten lick. The rough drag of his tongue is as electrifying as it is fleeting, and Keith carefully expels a measured exhale.

Lance’s eyes dart up toward Keith’s face. Whatever he sees, it must be a good enough sign to continue, because he quickly leans forward again, letting his tongue dance along the head, tip trailing teasingly in uneven circles.

And fuck, this is almost too slow. Not that it’s bad—holy hell, it’s the furthest thing from. But it leaves too much room for Keith to think. For it to sink in on him that Lance is willingly asking to learn what Keith likes. That he’s taking his time exploring Keith’s dick with an almost reverent attention to detail. And god, he looks utterly gorgeous, hair ruffed and cheeks warm and skin lined with drying sweat.

“Yeah,” Keith breathes. “Just like that. Now—” He bites off a moan. “—use more tongue.”

Lance cocks his head as he slowly presses his tongue flat against the underside of Keith’s dick and drags upward. Keith’s fingers clench against Lance’s sheets, and he forces himself to nod. “Get it nice and wet.”

Lance nods minutely, never ceasing his ministrations. His entire body rolls forward as he draws a longer line along Keith’s dick, eyes easing into a heavy, hooded gaze. His breathing never quite slows, teasing Keith with a strange mix of heated huffs and cool shivers where it hits spit-wet skin.

With each lick, Lance gets more into it, his body moving fluidly with the motion. Keith wrings his fingers tighter into the sheets, clenching his teeth when Lance fucking moans.

Keith waits a little longer than is probably necessary, letting Lance lick and drool on his dick while he struggles against the rising urge to buck. But, given Lance’s earlier attempt, he’d much rather err on the side of too wet than not wet enough.

When it’s almost too much, the tension thrumming a taught line through Keith’s middle, he finally stops Lance with a hand to his shoulder.

“That’s good,” he breathes, voice cracking. Lance’s eyes fucking glint, and Keith struggles not to gasp. “Now take it in slowly.”

There’s a long, slow breath as Lance pulls back ever so slightly. Then he’s carefully pushing forward, allowing the shape of Keith’s cock to press his lips apart as he lowers himself. The pressure is somehow both not quite enough and altogether too much. Lance’s lips are slick and soft and there, but too easily giving way and leaving Keith straining for more.

Lance gets halfway down, and for a moment all Keith can feel is the heat and the wet pressure squeeze close, close, closer against him. Then Lance is pulling slowly back up. Keith’s shaft is exposed to the cool, still air for just a moment before Lance is pressing back down, even further than before.

It’s not exactly mind blowing. Lance’s movements lack a certain precision—a level of confidence to give his bobbing a steady, even rhythm. But damn, Keith is finding it hard to really hold it against Lance.

Because the heat. It’s like the entire world has been reduced to the the undulating sensation of Lance’s mouth pressing in on him relentlessly. And yet, Keith is also hyper aware of Lance’s fingertips pressing against his sides. Of Lance’s warm skin shifting against his legs. Of the single drop of sweat that is curving down the back of his knee, quickly followed by another. Keith shudders as they trace a cool path down his calf, a tickling counterpoint to Lance slowly drawing himself back up along Keith’s dick.

Lance’s mouth is slowly taking in more and more of Keith’s cock with each stroke, blacking out a little more of Keith’s ability to breath with each pass.

Keith stops trying to keep his breathing steady—it was a useless attempt, and he knows it. He doesn’t fight the gasp that works itself from his lips when Lance glances up at him. Can’t bring himself to care when the tail end of the inhale trips into a stutter as Lance somehow manages a goddamn smile, even with his mouth stuffed completely full with Keith.

The picture Lance makes so completely matches the mental image that Keith has been resisting for days that he finally just gives in entirely, his head dropping back onto to bedspread. As Lance continues to work him over, a slow, low moan pushes its way from Keith’s throat, and it takes all his strength to hold himself back from thrusting up into Lance’s mouth.

Suddenly, Lance is pulling away entirely. Keith jerks up, pinning Lance with a confused glance. Lance simply grins back.

“Am I doing it right?” Lance asks, his tone the most unnerving mix of smug and coy. At least the asshole’s voice sounds scratchy. Even if it’s annoyingly sexy.

“Yes,” Keith manages to gasp. He presses his hips up toward Lance’s lips, hoping he’ll get the memo and keep on proving to Keith exactly how right he’s doing it.

But Lance leans away from his advances. “I dunno,” he says, voice dripping with mock concern even as it cracks gently. “You’re not being a very good teacher… what else should I be doing?”

“Lance…” Keith threatens. He thrusts his hips up again for good measure.

“No, really,” Lance says. “I thought you were the best at this…”

“Lance.”

Lance hums thoughtfully. Keith isn’t sure which he’s more of at this moment: turned on, or frustrated beyond belief.

“Just…” Keith gasps, pressing his knees together insistently against Lance’s sides. “You—you figure it out.” He tries nudging his hips up one last, desperate time and adds, “Just get back on me.”

“Oh?” Lance asks, entirely too breathless. He finally leans forward, and then—fucking—

Keith gapes as Lance nuzzles at his dick, his cheek sliding through the mess of his own spit as he smirks up at Keith. Lance’s eyes drift closed, and he asks, “Like this? You need to be a little more specific.”

Keith opens his mouth to retort and a moan bleeds out, only further fueling Lance’s small, pleased grin.

“Lance—”

“Mmm?” Lance asks, sliding his head until he’s nuzzling Keith with his other cheek.

“God—n-not—damn—” Keith’s lungs heave against his chest, and he finally manages to breathe, “Your mouth.”

Lance hums again, slowly slipping his cheek lower along Keith’s dick. But instead of coming back up, he lets his head dip down until his lips are pressing against Keith’s balls, slowly mouthing against them.

Keith gasps. Fine, if Lance is gonna be a little shit, then—

He wraps his heels over Lance’s back, using him as leverage to rock back and forth insistently. “If you’re—gonna—suck me off—” Keith growls, punctuating each pause by digging in his heels, “—then do it.”

Lance chuckles. “Fine, fine,” he teases, finally pulling back. Under his breath, he adds, “Bossy.”

“You talk too much,” Keith says.

He hates how labored he sounds. He hates that he doesn’t actually mind how much Lance talks. He hates that Lance’s fluttering, inconsistent, slowly growing confidence is threading too-warm pleasure under his skin.

Lance’s lips return to the head of Keith’s dick, gliding down with a more relaxed ease than before. As he moves, his thin fingers trail teasingly down Keith’s thighs, then he flattens his palms and smooths them back up. And up. And up. Until his hands are exploring Keith’s hips, his stomach. Tracing over the soft ridges of his abs. Nails scraping down, drawing careful lines of fire along his stomach. Then his palms press down yet again, kneading soothing pressure against his skin.

Keith’s hand shoots down to grip one of Lance’s, fingers tightening as Lance’s other hand continues its steady trek. Lance’s hand twists and graps Keith’s wrist tightly, dragging it off to the side and pressing it firmly against the mattress. Lance’s other hand never ceases its gentle ministrations against Keith’s taught skin.

The sensations, combined with the steady pressure, are making it increasingly difficult for Keith to think straight, his mind filling to the brim with singular awareness of Lance, Lance, Lance.

It’s the press of Lance’s tongue as the edges curl around his shaft. It’s the barely there drag of the larger, more raised buds at the back of Lance’s tongue that tickle against the head of Keith’s cock on each downstroke. It’s the inside of Lance’s cheeks pillowing against him, so soft, yet somehow holding him in a firm squeeze. It’s the tip of Lance’s tongue tracing underneath the head of Keith’s cock before his mouth sucks him right back in.

Keith’s hips are tilting in weak, half-aborted twitches as his muscles ache and beg to move. Somehow, he manages to restrain himself—just.

Lance isn’t talking anymore, but he’s nearly just as loud. His moans are coming more and more frequently, each sending electric jolts through Keith. Keith would be highly amused by this, if he weren’t so completely and utterly gone. Besides, he’s making a fair amount of noise himself, small groans and the occasional whine somehow managing to slip from between his lips as the sweat beads down his temples.

At some point Keith must have screwed up his eyes, because when he finally cracks them open, he’s met with the sight of Lance on his knees, ass weaving in the air, his entire body rocking as he swallows Keith down. His fingers curl insistently against Keith’s wrist and stomach, flexing, curling in time with his bobs.

A whimper escapes Keith, his free hand twisting in Lance’s comforter as he struggles not to thrust up into Lance’s beautiful, loud, amazing mouth with his full strength.

Suddenly Keith’s wrist is cold, Lance’s hand vanishing down between his own legs. Keith’s dick is bombarded with another moan. The room is buzzing, pressing insistently against Keith’s eardrums, but he somehow still hears the slap of Lance working himself over in time with his mouth’s rhythm.

“Shit—” Keith breathes. His fingers hurt from how tightly he’s gripping the comforter. “Lance.”

Lance’s tongue squirms, licking around the sides of Keith’s dick before dragging a particularly hot, insistent trail against the underside. Keith can feel his orgasm edging suddenly closer, his stomach writhing and twisting and clenching. He opens his mouth to tell Lance as much—

And is cut short by Lance whining and suddenly shuddering. Because, Keith realizes, he’s coming. While Keith’s dick is still in his mouth. He can feel every tremble as Lance shudders and shakes, moans with abandon, sucks in a ragged breath through his nose, unabashedly swallows around Keith’s dick.

The heat and the noise and the suddenness of it take Keith completely off guard, and his own climax rips itself through him before he can even think to react. His hips jut up, burying him even deeper into the heat of Lance’s mouth.

Lance jerks, apparently as taken off guard by Keith suddenly coming in his mouth as Keith is. He pulls back, a startled, dazed look on his face, and Keith’s dick pulses, a mess of cum splattering against his lips, nose, and cheek.

“Nnngh—” Keith grits his teeth, struggling to form words to apologize, but another wave of white hot bliss shreds any coherent thought into oblivion. His hips rock, shooting even more cum onto Lance’s face and jaw, before Keith collapses back against the bed.

He gasps, struggling to even out his breathing, as Lance stays hunched on all fours, eyes wide with surprise. All Keith can think is Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk. Because, well, that was kind of shitty. He should have given Lance some warning. His first blowjob and Keith just came all over his face. But, well, he was kinda overwhelmed there, with the whole Lance coming while sucking him off thing.

Lance finally leans back, crossing his legs beneath him and sitting up straight. He brings a tentative hand to his face and wipes a finger through Keith’s cum. Keith’s about to apologize—still struggling to breathe—when Lance licks his finger.

Keith gapes as Lance looks at his finger thoughtfully, a small frown on his face. Then he finally glances over at Keith and says, “I’m not really sure how I feel about the taste.”

A disbelieving, overwhelmed chuckle forces itself from Keith’s chest before he can stop it. He lets his head fall back and eyes fall closed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Should have warned you about that.”

“I don’t get it,” Lance says. His voice still holds the slightest waver. Keith glances up to find that Lance’s confused frown has grown. “How’d you swallow all of it?”

Keith manages another laugh as he smooths a hand through his sweat damp hair. “You gotta do it quick,” he explains, heaving a half shrug. “Swallow it before your mouth has a chance to taste it.”

Lance crosses his arms and surveys Keith. “Huh. Some teacher you are.”

Keith kicks Lance’s hip playfully. “I never told you to come in the middle of it,” he points out.

A light flush blossoms across Lance’s face, even as he frowns and shoves Keith’s foot away from him. “Whatever,” he says dourly. “So, anyways, I win now, right?”

It takes a moment for Keith to realize what Lance means, and another while he frowns at Lance in disbelief. “Uh, no,” he says, finally pushing himself up. “Pretty sure we established earlier that I was right, and you were wrong.”

Lance huffs and crosses his arms. “Dude. I just blew you so good that you came all over my face. Pretty sure I win.”

Privately, Keith agrees. His mind is sufficiently blown, especially considering that Lance hasn’t done this before. To Lance, however, all he says is, “Eh, I’ve had better.”

Lance’s mouth flaps wordlessly. Then, his frown growing offended, he says, “That doesn’t matter! We were trying to prove who is better at giving head—me, or you. And it’s obviously me.”

Keith twists so that his legs are hanging off of the bed. He reaches over and claps a hand to Lance’s shoulder. “Practice makes perfect,” he says. He can feel the shitty smile stretching across his face.

Lance gapes at him, and suddenly it occurs to Keith that, uh, wait. Did he just imply that Lance should suck him off again? To practice? That’s not at all what Keith meant, and though he is very not opposed to the prospect, he’s also not entirely certain how Lance feels about this. Aside from the shock that is still painted all over his face, that is.

Of course, it definitely seemed like Lance was into the idea of blowing him before they started. Logically, Keith knows this. But right now, with Lance staring at him, Keith is beginning to question himself again. Because maybe he misunderstood. Maybe this really was just about proving a point. Keith doesn’t want to believe that, but…

He opens his mouth to say something, but he’s at a complete loss of what to say in the first place. I didn’t mean to imply you should blow me again, but you’re more than welcome whenever you want? Sorry for coming all over your face, but we should totally do that again—if that’s cool? I really fucking want to kiss you?

That last one is particularly true, but, of all the options, arguably the worst possible one. Because, again, Keith just isn’t sure where Lance stands currently.

Lance, on the other hand, has apparently come to the conclusion that Keith’s remark was intended to be an insult. He waves Keith away with a roll of his eyes, then focuses his attention to his still-messy face. For a moment he frowns, fingers hovering just above the drying cum. Then, with a shrug, he tugs up the comforter—which is already soiled with his own cum—and vigorously wipes his face off.

Keith still is struggling against the urge to just grab Lance’s face and kiss him.

“I think I need a shower,” Lance says. He tosses his comforter down, eyes it, then adds, “And do some laundry.”

“Right,” Keith replies. He grabs his underwear from the floor and starts to tug them back on, pushing away the image of Lance’s lips that his mind is insistently focusing on. “I should—”

He hesitates. Because honestly, he doesn’t know what he should do. Is Lance expecting him to just go? Was the whole shower thing a dismissal? Surely it would be weird if Keith just stayed curled up on Lance’s bed while he hit up the showers. Surely it would be even weirder if Keith took a shower with him. Or not even with him—just at the same time—if he went—

Keith sighs. He finishes tugging on his pants, then stands up. “I should go get changed.”

He turns to find Lance in the process of pulling off his shirt, his head buried behind the fabric. Feeling awkward, Keith adds, “I’ll see you later.”

Lance manages to tug the shirt off and turns toward Keith as he heads to the door. “Oh. Yeah, later.”

Keith has the overwhelming urge to turn on his heel and pin Lance against the bed. Smoother him in kisses. Refuse to let him get up and take a shower. Stay here for eternity.

Instead, he presses his hand to the scanner and leaves.

The weirdest part is that Keith doesn’t feel crushed or anything. He got Lance off—twice, actually. Obviously the guy enjoyed it. Obviously Keith enjoyed it. And they’re kind of stuck in space. He’s not a completely idiot—he’s fairly certain they’re going to wind up doing this again.

He’s just not really sure where the line is. So he decides that he’s leaving it entirely up to Lance. If the guy wants to get off again, then Keith will willingly jump him. Until then, Keith’s going to hold himself back. Because if there’s one thing he’s learned, it’s that there’s nothing worse than being the more invested half of a hookup. And, probably way more importantly, they’re both key parts of Team Voltron. Getting into something potentially sticky with a teammate when they’re both responsible for saving the universe sounds like an absolutely terrible idea.

Not that it makes it any easier to deal with seeing Lance sitting at the table when Keith walks into the dining room for dinner that evening. Luckily, Lance seems to be having a rather animated argument with Pidge, meaning he doesn’t look up as Keith takes a seat on the other side of the table next to Shiro.

“Hey,” Shiro says with a small frown. “You okay? I didn’t see you all day.”

Keith shrugs, doing his best to go for nonchalance. “I was just tired. Wound up hanging in my room.”

Both statements are true. He doesn’t add that he spent the day purposely trying to avoid Lance, then getting it on with Lance, then avoiding Lance again.

Coran and Hunk blessedly cut the conversation short by walking in with several plates of goo. Keith still doesn’t really understand why they both insist on doing this every evening for dinner. It’s not like they don’t all grab their own goo for breakfast and lunch every day. But every evening, Coran and Hunk dutifully serve the rest of the crew. Coran claims it’s something about sitting down for a team dinner each night, and Allura and Shiro have both voiced their approval of the dumb little routine.

For once, though, Keith is grateful for it, as Coran places a plate in front of Keith and cuts Shiro’s questioning short.

“Alright, team!” Hunk announces, placing the last plate in front of Allura. “Dig in!”

Keith eats his goo, doing his best to eat quickly without being too obvious. Shiro knows him a little too well, and Keith doesn’t miss the way Shiro glances at him from the corner of his eye every few minutes.

Allura and Coran are reminiscing about something, and Hunk and Pidge dive into a discussion of their current project, which thankfully catches Shiro’s attention. Lance, on the other hand, is humming to himself as he eats.

Keith notices, and then promptly does his best not to pay attention. Because it’s kind of adorable, the way Lance is bobbing his head as he eats, humming around a mouthful of food goo.

It’s ridiculous, because just yesterday Keith would have been completely annoyed by the additional noise. Today, however, he simply finds it amusing that Lance needs to be loud regardless of what he’s doing. Which is a dangerous line of thought to be traversing at this moment.

Keith stubbornly keeps his gaze trained on his food, trying to convince himself that he isn’t listening to Lance’s little ditty.

It occurs to him rather quickly that this is a flat out lie—he is totally listening to Lance. So, struggling to keep a bored frown plastered on his face, Keith turns toward Hunk.

“I dunno, Pidge,” Hunk is saying with a frown. “Maybe if we used the broken scaultrite lenses instead?”

Pidge frowns thoughtfully. “I mean, that might work, but…”

Keith can’t help hearing as Lance quietly breaks into actual words, singing under his breath, “Un mojito, dos mojitos…”

Keith’s grip tightens on his spoon as he resolutely keeps his gaze fixed on Hunk. Not that he’s hearing a single word that the yellow paladin is saying—his ears seem to be entirely tuned into Lance’s surprisingly good singing voice.

Finally, Keith can’t take anymore. He turns to look at Lance and asks, “Having fun over there?”

Lance glances up at him and grins. “What, you like my song?” he asks, waggling his eyebrows.

Keith firms his face into a disapproving frown. “I didn’t realize dinner came with a show,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Lance, however, seems unperturbed. “A show? Well, if you insist…”

Keith opens his mouth to protest, but Lance is already singing.

“Me enamoré, ena-ena-enamoré,” Lance sings, grinning broadly. The asshole is enjoying this way too much. “Lo vi solito…”

Smirk growing, Lance gestures down to himself suggestively and sings, “Y te Lancé, me ena-enamoré, me ena-enamo.” Then, as Keith sits with his mouth hanging open, Lance throws him a wink.

What the fuck.

What the fuck?

What on Earth is that supposed to mean? Why the wink? Is Lance making fun of him?

“Lance.”

Keith and Lance both look over to Allura, who is squinting at Lance with a look of disapproval from the head of the table. “Did you just… imply what I think you implied?”

Lance’s mouth drops open. “You speak Spanish!?” he asks, eyes wide.

To Keith’s surprise, Coran laughs. “Actually, we both do!” he says jovially. “In a manner of speaking, at least. Alteans can not only shift their physical appearance—we can shift our understanding of language as well. It’s another reason we make such great diplomats!”

Lance is gaping, glancing wildly back and forth between the two of them. Keith, however, is much more interested in whatever it is Lance just implied.

Thankfully, Pidge seems just as interested as Keith is. “What?” she asks, leaning toward Allura. “What did he just sing?”

“Nothing,” Lance says, frowning at Pidge. The response is far, far too hurried to be innocent.

By now, both Hunk and Shiro are glancing curiously at Lance too.

Lance shrugs and says, “It’s just a dumb song.”

Allura frowns. “Why are you singing about having fallen in love?”

Lance’s mouth falls open again, somehow even wider and more incredulous than before.

Pidge is sniggering and Hunk is rolling his eyes. Keith, on the other hand, can’t stop a rush of red from creeping up into his face. That’s what Lance was singing at him? That’s—that’s—

Lance glances over and catches sight of Keith’s face. “It’s an old song my parents used to listen to, okay!?” he says hurriedly. For once, he looks entirely uncomfortable with having all of the attention on him. “I just have it stuck in my head, that’s all!”

Allura follows Lance’s gaze and looks at Keith. Her eyebrows rise, then she looks back over at Lance. “‘Te Lancé’?” she quotes back, sounding highly skeptical.

Lance slams his hands down on the table and stands up abruptly. “Well, would you look at that! I need to go—y’know—stuff!” His laugh is painfully awkward as he hurries from the room with his half-full plate of food.

“Aw, Lance!” Pidge whines at his retreating back. “No fair! What did you say!?”

The door to the kitchen slides closed behind Lance, but not before Keith notices how bright red the tips of his ears are.

Keith settles back uneasily in his chair, trying to understand what the fuck just happened. He turns and finds Shiro surveying him with a confused frown, and Keith’s stomach drops. Dammit, he does not need Shiro figuring out what the hell is going on here. Especially when he’s still not entirely sure.

Still… if Allura was right—if Lance actually was singing about having fallen in love… After all, he seemed flustered enough that Allura probably had understood him correctly, right? And he had looked right at Keith.

Keith’s stomach is jittering uncontrollably, and he wants nothing more than to stand up and leave as well, if only to avoid Shiro’s discerning glances. But he can’t—Lance literally abandoned him here, since getting up now, before dinner is done, right after all of that, would look completely suspicious.

So Keith dutifully finishes his food, downing spoonful after spoonful and trying not to look guilty of—whatever.

As soon as the last bite of goo is gone, Keith gets up. He sees Shiro turn towards him, so he hurriedly says, “I’m tired—I’m going to bed,” and heads out of the room. Thankfully, Shiro doesn’t try to stop him.

Once in the kitchen, finally alone, Keith sags against the counter. This is… going to be a bit more complicated than he had assumed. Especially if Lance is going to go around serenading him.

Still, Keith can’t quell the small, hopeful flutter of his stomach. He’s sticking to his resolution—if anything else is going to happen, he’s going to let Lance initiate it.

Considering that Lance is singing about falling in love and blushing and having trouble meeting Keith’s eye, well… Keith is pretty sure he’s not going to have to wait all that long.