Work Text:
Several things have become very apparent within the past few days—or weeks? Whatever. A lot has been processed and Lance is certain that the numbing feeling he gets when he spaces out during any given moment not spent piloting his lion is his brain blocking out what it feels like to almost die. Maybe he should see a therapist when he gets back to earth—if he gets back to Earth.
First observation:
Ever since his near death experience, everyone has been more or less the same. It’s not like there’s that much time to coddle him. Lance can deal with moving on and protecting the universe after a traumatic incident but what he can’t deal with is menial tasks like holding diplomatic rendezvous is the castle that yes, he found out after he had woken up, can fly. You can’t just expect a guy to wake up from a sleep-induced coma to thrust himself into a cocktail party with a species of long-limbed aliens. Lance sighs and downs his drink. Undoubtedly, he must appear dazed and weary. These aliens are nice, though, at the very least. Very friendly bunch and very excited to stuff humans full with their cuisine. Allura mentioned that these aliens didn’t have a gender and were to be referred to with neutral pronouns.
“Are you okay?”
“Huh?”
Keith is raising an eyebrow at him, holding a drink identical to his own. He’s not wearing his jacket and---ok, none of this is unfamiliar to Lance. He’s always found Keith attractive (in a stupid way) and guys in general are pretty alright looking, but something about the muscles in his bare arms snaps him out of his stupor. It dives down, deep into the pit of his belly. It's the same fluttering warmth that you get when you’re on a roller coaster.
“I’ve been watching you stare at your drink for ten minutes, dude.”
Lance does not have the opportunity to make a snappy rejoinder—though if he did it would have began with something like, “Look, I know I’m handsome, but…”
An elegant attendee with some bracelets circling their arms and wrists approaches him, staring at him, wide-eyed and dreamy. Their pupils are a bright orange amber.
“Pardon me,” They speak, closing what little personal space there was between them. “Exquisite one.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you! I’ve heard rumors of how different human skin is compared to our own but yours looks so soft. It glows.”
“Um,” Lance falters, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. “What.”
Second observation:
Lance realizes the irony of the situation: he has no problem giving compliments but he can feel himself freeze up upon receiving one. Amongst the nearby chatter, he can hear Keith snicker and he wants to shoot him a hateful glare. He’s thankful that only one teammate is nearby to watch his display of utter incompetence.
“May I look?”
“At…my skin?” Lance asks, still very perplexed, terrified to turn his head to see Keith’s reaction. He doesn’t want to know and he doesn’t need to, he’s aware of how ridiculous he looks right now.
“Yes.”
“Um. Okay.”
Delighted, the alien cups Lance’s faces with their hands—hands that are smooth and scaly, like a snake and not slimy or anything.
“How do you make it glow? It’s so luminous, so unlike your peers.”
“Um,” Lance replies, his voice breaking with skepticism. “I--um….I moisturize it. Daily.”
“Moisturizing. How fascinating,” They murmur, tilting his head from side to side, their tone laced with adoration.
“Thank you?”
Is it obvious that Lance is blushing? He hopes not. He can handle embarrassing himself on his own time but not with Keith watching, for the love of god why is this happening to him.
“Your color,” They speak softly. “How did you obtain such a beautiful color?”
“Er, my parents gave it to me,” Lance peeps, the sentence coming out in one long breathe that he didn’t realizing he was holding in.
“I see,” They draw, delicately. If they’re confused by that statement then honestly, Lance can’t blame them. “Well, I must depart. Thank you, exquisite one.”
“You’re welcome?”
Lance doesn’t know how to finish this conversation with anything other than a question. His brief admirer smiles and nods before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.
“Shut up,” Lance snaps, still not ready to meet Keith’s scrutiny. He can sense judgement boring into him even without eye contact.
“Chill out. I didn’t even saying anything.”
“Speaking of not saying anything, please tell me you won’t tell anyone else about this?”
Finally, Lance pivots, receiving the biggest shit-eating grin he thinks he’s ever seen in his entire life.
“Well, I wasn’t going to,” Keith says, folding his arms across his chest. “But now that you’ve told me how uncomfortable it’d make you, I’m definitely considering it.”
Lance’s eyes narrow and he growls through clenched teeth, “If we didn’t have company, I swear to god I would—“
“You’d what? Make a big dork out of yourself and stammer at me? Blush some more? Seriously, you should see how red your face is right now.”
“You piece of sh---nope. Nope. Nuh uh. No way.” Lance shakes his head, closes his eyes and says, “Not gonna take the bait.”
Lance is very proud of himself for being the bigger person for once but boy oh boy, this is going to come back to bite him in the ass.
-
Thankfully, Keith doesn’t ever bring up that night in public. Not so thankfully, Keith has now discovered a new way to get under Lance’s skin. Lance enjoys praise a little too much, so what? Is it really worth exploiting? Keith thinks so. It’s not the compliments that make Lance’s palms sweaty, his heart thunder wildly against his ribcage, and his face swell with impossible heat: it’s the way Keith has to be such a giant dick about it. Within the time they have to train, Lance’s piloting skills go from terrible to decent. Not impressive, in other words, but Keith surveys every notable accomplishment. He’ll get a curious look on his face, like he’s cataloging Lance's every reaction, filing them away for purposes that Lance can’t even begin to fathom. The manner in which Keith searches for the rising color in Lance’s cheeks is almost scientific.
“Good job today,” Keith titters, feigning cheeriness. Today, the team succeeded in nose-diving unanimously, which doesn’t sound difficult in theory but when said team is generally at one another’s throats, it becomes a different kind of challenge. A resounding thwump rings in Lance’s ears as Keith pats him on the back with a bit more force than necessary.
Shiro, of course, has to point out that they all performed well and Lance wishes he could tell him to please not encourage whatever antics Keith has in mind.
As Keith continues to goad him further, the hand on his back finds the curve of Lance’s spine and Keith traces it with his finger. Again, that funny little flurry of coiling, sticky-hotness builds up in Lance’s gut. He’s rendered speechless and Keith very smoothly wrings his hand away before Lance can vocalize his thoughts. Holy shit. Is—is this flirting? Is he being mocked? Is it both? Because if so, this is not how normal human beings court one another.
“But Lance did especially well, right?” Keith insists, singling him out among the collective approval.
“Um, of course I did,” Lance sneers. “It’s me we’re talking about. The guy who took your place after you dropped out. I’m kind of a big deal, in case you haven’t noticed.
“I’m just saying,” Keith urges, faux apologetically, pleased to see his actions met with a scowl. “I’m impressed. You’re full of surprises, Lance. I learn more about you every day. You’re just so…I don’t know, I want to say ‘exquisite?”
Lance clenches and then unclenches his fist. It’s a technique that his school counselor taught him to utilize whenever he’s trying to deal with copious amounts of stress.
“Yeah, well, you—I—I’m leaving. I have to go—study,” Lance splutters, lamely, turning his heel, prepared to get the hell out of dodge, before he hears some kind of lecture from pseudo-dad-Shiro about how they all need to “get along.” Last minute retorts are not turning out to be Lance’s strong suit. In fact, simply coexisting with Keith is becoming altogether impossible.
-
“You’re so good for me, Lance,” Keith whispers, and Lance screws his eyes shut tighter, one hand twisted desperately in the sheets, the other hand wrapped tightly around his cock. He pumps himself in frantic, sloppy strokes. God, if Keith could see him right now: Lance, biting his lip, toes curled, heels digging into the mattress.
“You’re so good. You’re perfect. You love the attention, don’t you? Yeah, you do, look at you. You’re so hard. So hard for me.”
Lance whimpers, bucking into his hand. It’s not enough. This is humiliating and he can’t believe what he’s about to do. Popping his index finger into his mouth, Lance suckles on it then flips onto his stomach. He’s only tried this a few times but this time it’s different because Keith would circle his entrance slowly, pressing in then pulling away until it became too much to bear.
“You think this means I’d be nice? You think I wouldn’t make you beg for it?”
“ Oh god,” Lance groans, propping himself up on his hands and knees, reaching behind himself until he brushes something that makes his knees wobble. He comes with a few light touches against his prostate while he spills onto his fist. His knees give out almost instantly and Lance collapses into the mess he’s made.
“I’m so screwed,” Lance mumbles into his pillow.
-
Ultimately, Lance snaps after almost a week of this prolonged psychological torment. They’re at the training deck, arguing about Lance’s piloting skills. Keith is accusing Lance of a sloppy landing.
“You’re a sloppy landing!” Lance declares, proudly, resting his hands on his hips. If anyone else were here, surely they’d grant him congratulatory high fives.
Unimpressed, Keith scoffs, “You really aim for the jugular, don’t you?”
Nose propped high in the air, Lance huffs, “My sick burns rain down like hellfire and you’re just jealous, as usual.”
It takes a tremendous effort not to shrink back and cower when the corner of Keith’s mouth curl, dipping into a smile that doesn’t feel authentic. He keeps as still as he can as Keith’s gaze bore into his own, cold and evaluating. There’s a worrying undertone of coolness in Keith’s voice as he takes one very big and very intimidating step forward, and says, “You’re right, Lance. I’m sorry. Sometime I forget how clever you are.”
“Stop,” Lance warns, pointing an accusatory finger in Keith’s direction. “Go back to being mean.”
“So you hate me when I’m mean to you but you hate me even more when I’m nice?”
“Yes,” Lance confirms, backing away from Keith’s stalking form only to feel the cool wall press up against his back. Shit.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes perfect sense because you’re not being nice! Y-you’re—doing it all on purpose.”
Keith furrows his brow thoughtfully, pulling together an expression that suggests he’s both oblivious and omniscient all at once, a terrible and contradictory look that makes Lance’s skin break out into a balmy sweat
“Doing what on purpose?” Keith inquires, ingenuously, almost childlike. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’d have to explain it to me. Sometimes I can’t get on your level.”
Lance blushes and tries his best to ignore the ongoing flip-flopping sensation rolling around in gut. Taking a colossal risk, Lance tries his best to stare Keith down, before giving him a powerful shove.
“Enough!” Lance barks. “Oh my god, enough already! If you’re going to make your move then just do it already but stop—“ and here he grits out through his teeth—“messing with me.”
And then Keith shoves him back, though not to distance the two. Actually, he uses his strength to pin Lance’s shoulders to the wall, trapping him. Convinced he’s about to be mauled to death because Keith looks like he’s gone mad—locks of hair splaying across his forehead, lips taut—Lance is ready to accept his fate. Instead, their mouths knock together.
Oh.
Now Keith is kissing him, hard and irate, sucking his bottom lip into a bite before tearing away, grinning wolfishly when Lance’s mouth drops in confusion.
“You just kissed me!” Lance shrieks. A few octaves higher and the ship’s windows might have shattered.
“You told me to make a move.”
“But I didn’t think you would actually do it!”
“Could you please stop screeching? Your voice is shrill enough as it is.”
“No! I will do no such thing! Because this entire time if you were into me why couldn’t you have just said so? Why—“
Lance falters, feeling his tongue dry up again like he’s just stuck it in a patch of hot sand, furious that Keith hasn’t stopped smirking. Regardless, he lowers his voice this time and attempts to access the area of his brain that’s meant to form coherent sentences. “—Why,” Lance continues, hot with shame because his voice erupts a little, wobbling,”—did you have to tease me about it? Like, why take a very personal bit of information you’ve gathered about me and flaunt it in front of everyone and—and watch me make an idiot out of myself?”
“First of all,” Keith corrects, breathing against his jaw. “You don’t need my help to look like an idiot.”
“Thanks.”
“Secondly,” Keith adds, lips now ghosting over his neck, oh god he isn’t strong enough for this, “I like watching you squirm. I mean, at first I really was just messing with you but its so much fun to make you blush.”
Opening his mouth to make some kind of protest proves to be a waste of both their time so thinks he should just close it but Keith takes this opportunity to kiss him again. It’s not like he’s wrong, anyway so fuck, why not just let it go?
He whines into it, a loud and needy “mmf,” that makes Keith jerk away and groan, “Damn it, Lance. My bunk. Now.”
-
Bunk beds aren’t really ideal for making out but that doesn’t stop them. Keith hoists Lance by his armpits and drags him him down onto the bed. Lance is sitting on his lap, feeling more than a little exposed.
“Wait,” Lance mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut, abashment welling deep in his chest. “If we continue, then I have to be honest with you. I might get-- um, I might pop a boner too soon and it might poke you. I'm new to this so--I’m a virgin. Okay?”
“Yeah, I know,” Keith says, casually, like he has the fucking gall to not act somewhat surprised.
“Wait, you knew?”
“Uh, yeah, its kind of obvious. All that compensating had to mean something.”
“You,” Lance scorns, downright offended and appalled, “You’re a bastard. I hate you. Do you know that? You make me sick.”
“Shut up.”
They’re not kissing this time; making out is probably the correct term. Wet, uncoordinated, sloppy, but still really fucking hot, with Keith licking open his mouth tenderly. Lance grabs at whatever he can find, he doesn’t know, honestly, he doesn’t make out with people very often. As it turns out, Keith has very broad shoulders so he clutches at them as firmly as he can. Keith is intent on crushing their bodies as flush together as physically possible, probably to ensure that Lance won’t pull away to use his mouth for talking. He’s lying flat, atop Keith’s body and he can feel the firm planes of his abdomen, so taut in comparison to his own. Skinny, kind of gangly with bony hips, Lance has never thought much about the way he looks. Nevertheless, with Keith is clawing at his back and licking the roof of his mouth, its edvident that Lance he has something to offer.
His dick is so hard it hurts. It’s not really helping that he’s wearing tight jeans today. Their hips roll together, aligning just right so that their erections press together, creating beautiful and absolutely delicious friction.
“Wow,” Keith wheezes when they break apart to breathe. “You’re really soft and smooth.
“Fuck me,” Lance chokes out, abruptly.
“Huh?”
“I said fuck me. Stick it in me!”
“Did you just tell me to stick it in you? Wow, okay—“
Lance whines at the loss of warmth as Keith lies on his back, props himself up on his elbows, and motions Lance to scoot off him. Lance pouts, hugging his knees, drawing them in closely.
“Do you not want to sleep with me?” Lance asks, half-joking. “What, am I not pretty enough?”
“That’s not it.”
“Then why did you stop?”
Keith rubs his temple and clarifies; “Do not ever say ‘stick it in me’ ever again, for any reason, for as long as you live. I’m not going to explain why, just please don’t do it. “
After giving Keith a reluctant nod, Keith continues, “More importantly, are you sure you want this? You’ve never had sex before and I don’t want to hurt you...”
“Seriously, that’s it? You’re afraid of hurting me?”
“Dude, yeah, was my hesitation unclear? I don’t want to hurt you like that."
“It’s fine,” Lance prompts, unfolding his legs to crawl back to Keith’s stretched legs. The look on Keith’s face—stricken, biting his lip—tells Lance that Keith is super on board with watching Lance slither into his lap.
“I do it to myself all the time.”
Did he really just admit that out loud? Yes, Lance realizes, he did, and Keith heard him and it made him even harder. The fabric shifting along his crotch isn’t exactly something that Keith can hide this close up.
“I mean not all the time,” Lance rushes, blushing fucking immediately. “Just some of the time. Only when I’m really feeling up to it, you know? It’s not like it’s a thing that happens every time I jerk off, whatever, it’s just…sometimes when I watch Indiana Jones, younger Harrison Ford makes me feel kind of funny—“
“Okay, yeah, I’m going to fuck you,” Keith cuts him off. “I want to fuck you hard but I won’t. I’m going to be gentle, or at least try really hard to be.”
Electing to nod his head again, because figuring out what to say feels like a gargantuan effort through the hazy fog of his one-track mind, Lance could specify that he honestly wouldn’t mind taking Keith’s cock hard, fast, and angrily but he doesn’t, instead he twiddles his thumbs. Was he supposed to do something right now, or? What—
“Well?” Keith raises an eyebrow.
“Huh?”
“You kind of need to get naked in order to have sex.”
“Oh. Right. Can I…”
Lance tugs at Keith’s shirt, peeling it away, up and over his stomach. As Keith raises his arms over his head, Lance wonders if he’s going to come in his pants from undressing an attractive boy. He’s never watched the fabric slide effortlessly over an attractive boy’s arms to reveal a firm and toned belly, adorned with a kissable trail of hair along his navel. Soon, Keith is entirely naked and Lance is gaping, blinking, just fixated on the first cock he’s ever seen in person. He licks his lips and wonders how it would feel in his mouth. Hot, heavy, thick, salty, something he can moan around while he’s sucking on it.
“Lance,” Keith groans in exasperation, gesturing to…well, all of Lance because he’s still fully clothed.
“What if…” Lance stutters, fingers still playing with the hem of his own shirt, hesitant. “Um, what if I’m…not—I ’m really skinny.”
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. So?”
Realizing that Lance needs some encouragement and actively choosing to not be an ass about it (kudos, Keith) the less patient of the two reaches discard his top, placing kisses along his collar bone. Off come Lance’s jeans. He wriggles out of them, shucking them to the floor.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Keith grouches, hopping off the mattress to rummage through his drawers.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the stuff, obviously. Lance, you’ve had to at least had some kind of sex ed class.”
“Oh.”
“This has been dragging on for way too long,” Keith complains, “so lie down. Just relax, tell me if I’m hurting you and I’ll stop but please keep your mouth shut otherwise.’”
There’s the snap of a bottle of lube opening, reverberating like a twig being ripped in half and torn asunder. Heartbeat skyrocketing, untraceable, Lance swallows hard, realizing that this was actually going to happen. He was about to have sex for the first time with someone he often fantasized about punching.
“For the record, I don’t care if you’re skinny so stop being self concious. Spread your legs.”
Surprised that he’s even letting Keith boss him around like this at all, Lance complies nimbly, parting his thighs.
“Aw, how cute,” Lance singsongs, attempting to gain some kind of equilibrium to reel his mind back in place. “Keith thinks I’m pretty. Keith thinks I’m cool, Keith thinks I’m—ooh, whoa, okay. Yup. Your fingers are definitely bigger than mine.”
Keith snorts, "That’s because you have tiny, little baby hands.”
“I resent that,” Lance counters, panting from the slick finger teasing his entrance. He’s in so much trouble: Keith’s finger won’t enter him fully, it just slips in, then out before circling sensitive skin. “I have dexterous and powerful gun-toting hands and I would thank you to—nghh—oh, oh god.”
Lazily, Keith’s fingers shift angles, hitting his prostate directly. Little waves of pleasure flicker through Lance’s nerves, traveling to his erection, where it’s scalding, red, and leaking, to settle in his stomach where it feels like a pool of bubbling warmth.
“What was that, pal? You wanna finish that sentence?”
Lance lets out a pathetic squeal when Keith punctuates it by cruelly tapping his prostate before pushing down on it, applying a monumental sum of pressure. It makes Lance’s toes curl and his eyelids flutter in surrender.
“Yes. Er, No, I don’t remember what I was going to say but if I did remember…actually, I don’t care, can you p-please do that again?”
Keith doesn’t really oblige; he adds a second finger, big and blunt enough to leave Lance gasping for breath. However, he’s outright refusing to reach the parts that need tending to. Every time Keith is inches away from brushing against his prostate, he’ll pull away and repeat the process. Three fingers in and Lance whines deep from his throat, digging his heels into the sheets, lolling his head.
“Come on, Keith, dude, friend, compadre,” Lance pleads.
“What? Sorry, did you need something?”
“Yes, I need more. Quit putzing around.”
“Beg for it,” Keith demands, pulling away to roll a condom over his dick, his voice so deep that it pushes buttons Lance didn’t even know he had.
“Really? You haven’t had enough? You torment me on a daily basis and this still isn’t enough?”
“Yup.”
“Okay,” Lance gulps, abandoning his pride, too, while he’s at it because fuck it, Keith is grabbing his ankles, readying himself at his entrance and all Lance has to do is just not think highly of himself for a few minutes, or 30 seconds, however long he’ll last. He’s not sure but he’s more than a little concerned that Keith is enjoying every moment of this, bidding Lance a grin that is not at all kind. He’s not going to hear the end of this when its all over, is he?
“Please please please please fuck me. Make me feel good. Don’t hold out on me. Stick it in me already.”
Keith’s cock is even thicker than his fingers were, pushing inside him, stretching him wide and Lance wants to keep quiet but there’s no way anyone in the vicinity can’t hear the loud gasp that tears through him.
“Stop saying that!” Keith grunts in frustration. “It’s not sexy.”
“Keith,” Lance gasps when Keith bottoms out, filling him up as deep as he can go.
The stretch does hurt a bit, not terribly due to the preparation, but its unfamiliar and overwhelming enough to make Lance cry out. But he doesn’t let Keith stop; murmurs, “Come on, come on, I’m fine, it’s fine,” even when Keith, looking concerned, almost draws away. Lance holds on, though, waiting until the pressure ebbs away to reveal something that feels—wow, it feels incredible—
“Whoa,” Lance pants, shakily. “Whoa, whoa, do that again.”
It’s not like Lance needs to vocalize his approval. All Keith has to is study every motion in Lance’s face, take note when his mouth hangs wide open, screws his eyes shut, arches his back and bares his throat. And oh, does he do just that. Studies every damn angle that leaves Lance keening. Memorizes what kind of thrusts Lance likes best, rewards him for putting on such a pretty show by placing tender kisses along his calf.
“You really love this don’t you?” Keith moans, struggling to preserve a bit of sobriety. Not that it’s working. There’s a tremble in his thighs every time he cants his hips and the grip on Lance’s ankles is becoming sweaty, slippery.
“Uh-huh,” Lance whimpers.
The experience is….awkward but euphoric. Awkward because he’d never imaged he’d offer himself to Keith, of all people. It should make him furious, knowing that from now on, all Keith has to do is remind him how easy it is for him to become quivery and pliant during their metaphorical dick-measuring contests. Lance will probably lose every time.
“Am I doing good?” Lance asks, voice cracking so hard that it sounds comical. Keith laughs at that, the bastard.
“I mean, sure? I’m kind of doing all the work here.”
“Tell me I’m doing good.”
In any other situation, Keith likely wouldn’t indulge it but they both know what led them to this tryst in the first place. Besides, there’s only one way this is headed. Rougher with his thrusts than before, building up momentum, Keith bends over, nearly folding Lance in half to grab him by the chin and kiss him.
The helpless, fervent pitch coming from Keith sends an electric jolt to the parts of Lance’s body that are currently overflowing with stimuli.
“You’re doing so good, Lance. So good for me. So tight, so warm, knew you’d feel good.”
“Y-you’re—hnn—really hot, freaking gosh dang it—“
Not as eloquent as a reply but Keith isn’t mocking him. Wrapping his arms around Keith’s shoulders, Lance hauls him in closer so he can muffle his cries in the crook of that pale neck.
“’M close,” Lance weeps, digging his fingernails into Keith’s back. Forcing words out of his sandpaper throat is agonizing. One hand reaches down to stroke himself but Keith bats it away. Snarling, Keith shoves Lance’s back down onto the bed, tactfully seizing his wrists and pinning them above his head. Holy shit, if that isn’t the hottest thing that Lance has ever seen in his entire life. When Lance obeys, just lies there and doesn’t try to get an upper hand, Keith makes a pleased noise, like he’s watching a pet perform a new trick.
“Good boy.”
Well, it’s not the weirdest thing that’s ever brought Lance to orgasm but it does just that. Disconcertingly. Tension that has been built up for so long finally teeters over that blinding precipice. Lance writhes, shivers, whites out from the pleasure that’s just too damn intense. Head dizzied, the final sounds of his climax are loud ones; wails and sobs. His toes are curling so hard that they're cramping and then Lance is spilling his release all over his chest and stomach.
Keith is rocking him through it, whispering, “Good, good, good boy,” not letting go of his grip on Lance’s bony wrists. The moan spilling from the sweatier man on top of him comes from deep within his gut. Clutching Lance’s spindly legs for leverage, Keith empties inside Lance, afterwards collapsing from the exertion. They don’t say anything for several moments. Carefully, their breaths fall into a steady calm. Keith hops off the bed to discard the condom, grab a tissue from the desk, and wipe away the mess on Lance's torso.
“That escalated quickly,” Lance remarks, feeling the dip in the weight of the mattress as Keith rests beside him.
“Are you okay?” Keith questions, cupping Lance’s shoulder, gently.
“I’m…very okay. I just came so hard I think I almost passed out,” Lance sighs, dreamily, staring at the ceiling. His limbs feel light and airy.
“Good.”
“I still hate you, though.”
“Fair enough,” Keith hums in agreement.
“Keith?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really hungry.”
Lance isn’t surprised to see Keith is rolling his eyes once he turns his head.
“You’re always hungry.”
“Y’know what I really miss, though? Jalapeño poppers."
“Mmm. Yeah. I could go for some greasy food right about now.”
Folding his arms behind his head, Lance rambles on, “When we make it back to earth, do you wanna eat Jalapeño poppers with me?”
“Are you asking me out on a date? Gross.”
“No,” Lance corrects. “I think two acquaintances should be able to enjoy a nice, hot plate of Jalapeño poppers together.”
“Mm, ‘acquaintances,’ that’s kind of a strong word.”
“Fine,” Lance grumbles. “Allies?”
“Eh.”
“Former classmates.”
“If you go down on me then sure, it’s a deal.”
“Cool.”
So maybe Keith isn’t so horrible, after all, Lance decides. Maybe he’ll change his mind when his ass starts to feel sore. For now, he’ll choose to think of this as some kind of twisted, kinky bonding exercise. Whatever works, man.