Here’s the thing: Lance flirts differently depending on the person. With women, he’s more likely--always likely--to use a cheesy pick-up line; half the time it makes the other person laugh and Lance smiles wide in return. With men, he’ll act cool and suave--and yes, no matter what anyone says, he can act cool and suave--and is maybe a little more forward once he gets to know them, a hand on their shoulder, leaning in towards them when they talk. And with other people, he kind of just flails around in a way that he hopes doesn’t seem like he is in the process of a mental breakdown and instead is coming across as genuinely interested in them.
Keith, however, is a whole different problem. Sure, Lance could try his cool and suave approach but a) Keith isn’t a touchy sort of person and b) whenever he’s around Keith, they end up having petty arguments that definitely leave Lance more flustered than suave and cool.
So, all in all, Keith probably thinks Lance is just psycho more than, you know, trying to properly express his feelings.
But all of this trouble has placed him in the training room, sparring against Keith.
Lance falls on his back for the fifth time in a row while Keith settles on his stomach, straddling him to stop him from doing something akin to cheating--and fair, Lance has tried to cheat the last two rounds, but in his defense, it shouldn’t be called cheating when you catch your opponent off guard when the match has ‘finished’ just to try to get the upper hand.
“What’s with you today?” Keith asks, glaring down at Lance, arms crossed.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Lance replies, mumbling. He refuses to look at Keith, finding the far blank wall more entertaining, but Keith’s fingers gently grip his chin to guide his focus back. It leaves Lance no choice but to look at Keith.
“Your forms are sloppy and you’re definitely not concentrating.” Keith leans down, hands now placed near the sides of Lance’s head on the training mat. He’s so close that the ends of his long bangs brush Lance’s forehead. “Why did you ask me to train with you if you’re not going to be serious about it? It’s a waste of time for both of us.”
Lance bites his lower lip, hissing. Because really, this was just his way of spending time with Keith. He hates training, especially on what’s supposed to be considered their day of rest. “I was bored--”
“You’re never bored enough to train. I know you too much.”
“Not enough apparently.”
Arching an eyebrow and allowing Lance some space to breathe as he sits back, Keith asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Lance desperately wants Keith to understand without having to spell it out. A few seconds of tense silence pass by. He can hear Keith’s breathing, but nothing seems to dawn in those dark eyes that continue to peer at Lance, confused. Since the universe hates him, Lance closes his eyes for a moment and admits, “I only asked you to train with me because I wanted to spend time with you.”
Lance throws up his hands. “God, Keith, I don’t know. Because I like you?” In his haste, the confession ends up coming out more like a question but that doesn’t mean what he says is any less true. He almost slaps a hand over his mouth, wide eyed, even if most of the damage has already been done. Lance’s heart pounds, growing louder the more Keith remains silent (again) above him. He waits for the rejection; his fingers tap against the floor.
“This was your way of asking me out on a date,” Keith finally says, and unlike Lance, he does not phrase it as a question. He narrows his eyes slightly as he analyzes Lance.
Looking at him through his fringe, Keith sighs, shaking his head slightly in what could be exasperation. But anything’s better than disgust or anger, so at this point, Lance will take it. “You know I like more than just training, right?”
Sitting up and accidentally knocking Keith more into his lap--which he tries to ardently ignore--Lance mutters, “Could’ve fooled me.”
“You could’ve asked me to see one of those bad Altean movies with you or play video games or even take a joy ride in one of our lions. You’re not very good at this, are you? The whole romance thing.”
Lance’s eyes snap up to Keith’s face, mouth popping open in outrage. “Excuse me for going with the route I knew best; it’s very hard to think straight around you!”
Keith barks a sharp laugh. “I’m sure it is.”
“Shut up.” Lance’s cheeks flush a deep red.
“No,” Keith says immediately, but Lance would have been more surprised if he complied with the non-serious request. Suddenly, Keith’s face is closer to Lance, alarmingly so--which you would think wouldn’t be surprising considering Keith is sitting in his lap and has definitely not made any attempts to move away. But it is; Lance can see violet flecks in his dark eyes and light freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. Black hair curls against his pale cheeks, damp from their workout. “Why do you think I agreed to train with you when I usually practice alone?”
“Because you wanted to show off how much better you are?”
Keith groans. “How’ve you survived being this obtuse?” But before Lance can retaliate with evidence of just how obtuse Keith is as well--and that his eye roll was completely unnecessary--Keith says, “I like you too.”
Lance struggles not to gap like a fish, keeping trained eyes on Keith’s face, waiting to see if Keith will follow up with a ‘sike.’ When it never arrives, Lance allows himself to grin, for his lips to stretch wide. “Well, this is certainly a nice development.”
Gently knocking his forehead against Lance’s, Keith breathes out, a small smile tugging on his lips. “Just shut up and kiss me already.”
“You don’t have to be so demanding,” Lance says with a laugh. He grabs Keith’s face in his hands, pulls him forward, and completes the gap.
31 notes · View notes