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Percussion

@monthlyklance‘s Klance Trope Month, day 14 Jock x Punk

Keith first sees Lance in the middle of a game. He’d been pulled off the field to swap a fresh player in. He had been catching his breath and glanced over at the band kids. And that’s when he saw him. Lance stood on the railing of the bleachers, leaned over it to talk to Hunk and Pidge, and the breath Keith had caught left him right after he’d thrown his head back and laughed.

After that game, Lance was no longer near the band, gone.

The first time he learns the guy’s name, it’s during practice. He recalls Pidge screeched at the top of their lungs a loud:

“Lance McClain, you’re a dead man!” And then he saw Lance book it across the field something clutched in his hand.

Now, Lance isn’t a bad guy. He’s a bit loud, a bit boisterous, but he has a good heart. He had looked fairly average back then. His laugh always catches Keith’s attention and holds it, making him wish he knew the joke too. He simply watches him interact with Hunk and Pidge while they practice on the field, lazily leaning against the railing for the bleachers.

But somewhere between games two and three, Lance changes. He shaves the sides of his hair and lets the rest grow out, dying it a striking neon green. His clothes gain more rips and tears, brought back together with bright colored thread or safety pins. His jacket gains more and more spikes, buttons, and patches. He watches as the bottom set of his double ear piercings get filled with a gauge, dark eyeliner carefully smudged over his eyes.

It’s a look. And Keith is horribly distracted by it. It’s no longer just Lance’s laugh that gets him, it’s the glint of the sun off those spiked shoulders or wrists. It’s seeing as Lance slowly replaces one color in his hair with another, bright green swallowed by blinding blue. It’s him helping carry Pidge’s tuba to Hunk’s car after a hot day of practice and catching him leaning against the chain-link fence with a smirk.

He knew he was fucked when he caught Lance’s tongue curl around a sucker, pulling it into his mouth behind his teeth, making his head get woozy. He didn’t realize how fucked he was until he fumbled in game five, having frozen with the ball tucked in his arm because he heard Lance shout his name. His name. No one else’s. And then he was tackled.

After that game, he had managed to walk over to the band busy packing up. Lance was still there, leaning against the railing of the bleachers, back to the field. Keith jumped over the small fence separating spectators from the athletes and walked to the space below him.

“McClain, right?” He had called out. Lance turned around and looked down at him.

“Yeah?”

“I…” He hadn’t planned what he was going to tell him. “I like your jacket.” He settled for.

“Thanks! It was my dad’s. I just gave it a touch of Lance.” He smirked and Keith waved his helmet in Lance’s direction.

“Looks cool.” He said and winced. He was saved when the coach called for him and he awkwardly left.

He wouldn’t speak to Lance again until the start of the sixth game. He was in his varsity jacket, right arm in a sling, and walked over to him. Lance hissed at the sight of him.

“Dude, what happened to you?”

“Sprained wrist, took a nasty fall during practice.”

“You out for the season?”

“Nah, just this game and the next probably. It wasn’t too bad.” But Keith had to watch his team fail miserably without his help on offense. He is the best wide-receiver after all.

“Well, I hope you get back in there, otherwise the band won’t have any team to play for.” Lance laughed and patted Keith’s shoulder. He pushed himself off the railing, walked off the bleachers, and left Keith standing there.

His doctor advised him against playing the seventh game and his coach took it seriously, having him sit it out as well. He cheered for his teammates from the bleachers and after the game, he hovered over by the band for Hunk and Pidge. Lance chatted with them and he wasn’t able to convince himself to go thank his friends for their time as he often would. But he wasn’t able to run away before Hunk was able to grab him and invite him to their traditional post-game hangout.

Dinner at Sal’s Pizzas could have been more awkward. Pidge and Hunk managed to make sure Keith was never left out of their conversations with Lance and vice-versa. In the end, Keith paused on his way to his car.

“McClain?”

“Yeah?” Lance turned around.

“I like your hair.”

“Thanks! Grew it myself.” He laughed, climbing into Hunk’s car

Game eight he was back on the field. He was still distracted by Lance. His team had come to the conclusion as well.

“At least win for him.” James rolled his eyes during a huddle, out of breath.

“It’s not --”

“Sure it’s not.”

The team won, but barely.

Practice leading to game nine, his team was now using it to tease him. They’d joke that Lance would be in the stands when he wouldn’t be. Tell him that he needed to up his game if he wanted Lance to be impressed. Things of that nature.

And now, game nine, he finds himself looking in the stands before they’re called to the field, for Lance. He almost misses their cue, but he’s jostled by the other players and runs out on the field with them. He doesn’t see Lance. Coach has him in the game for the first quarter and then sits him out for the second. He takes off his helmet, shakes his head, and grimaces at the sweat.

“Hey, Kogane!” He hears from the stands behind him. He jumps and turns around. Lance is standing there, leaning against the fence between him and the track, sucker in his mouth and a dangerous smirk on his face.

“Yeah?”

“Better win this game man, I think the band is getting tired.” He jerks his thumb over to where the band is seated. He gets up and walks over to Lance.

“There’s only so much I can do.” He shrugs as he leans on the fence as well, arms crossed and helmet dangling between his fingers from the faceguard.

“Better do something then.” Lance chuckles. He can feel the eyes of his fellow teammates on the bench watching them.

“Can I ask you something?”

“What’s up?”

“Kogane! You’re in!” He hears Coach calling for him.

“Will you go out with me?” He asks in a rush.

“I barely know you.” Lance points out.

“That’s the point isn’t it?”

“Kogane!”

“Your coach is calling you.” He gestures with a wave of his hand.

“I know. But will you?”

“...Win the game, then we’ll talk.” Lance tells him.

“I will bench you, Kogane!”

“Okay,” He pulls on his helmet and starts to walk away, eyes on Lance. “After we win!”

He rushes out to the field and gets back in it. He can pick Lance’s voice out of the crowd cheering, specifically for him. Only this time he doesn’t let it trip him up. He doesn’t swap out after the third quarter, and the game is still evenly matched. Perhaps it’s fate, or sheer determination, or maybe just because he feels a bit luckier, but he scores the winning goal.

He doesn’t celebrate with his team for long, pulling his helmet off and running over to the band where he can already see Lance standing with. He perks up when he sees him.

“Congrats, man. Didn’t actually think you’d do it.” Lance chuckles.

“So, will you?” He asks again.

“What’s going on?” Pidge looks just as sweaty as he is, tuba still wrapped around them.

“He’s asking me out,” Lance tells them.

“Finally!” Hunk groans as he carefully packs up his flute.

“Wh-What’s that supposed to mean?” Keith looks over at his friends, betrayed.

“Nothing, please, continue like we’re not here.” Pidge waves him off and they follow Hunk to the band room.

“Um.” Keith looks back and sees his team is waiting for him, all eagerly watching from the endzone.

“So, a date?” Lance asks.

“With you.” Keith nods.

“I’d assume so, you did ask me.” He snickers and when he licks his lips Keith sees a flash of silver on his tongue that he didn’t know of before. “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Am I?” He raises a brow.

“Yeah.”

“So…?” Keith asks and watches as Lance pulls a sharpie from his pocket, passing it to Keith with his hand.

“Give me your number?”

“Yeah.” He drops his helmet to the ground in his haste but doesn’t worry about it. He simply writes down his cell number on the back of Lance’s hand and hands him the sharpie.

“I’ll text you and let you know when I’m free this weekend?” He looks at the number then to Keith.

“Yeah.” He nods.

“Cool.” He smiles, holding his hand close to him.

“So...it’s a yes then?”

“Oh my god,” He laughs and Keith smiles. “Of course it’s a yes!” Lance shoves at his shoulders.

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“Fair. Now go, you’re all sweaty and smelly.” Lance shoos him. Keith scoops up his helmet and waves it at Lance jogging back over to his team. They whoop and holler loudly when they realize that he’d said yes.

And when he helps his team win the end of the season they practically congratulate Lance for getting Keith to focus, and Keith finds Lance looks just as distracting in his varsity jacket as he does in his spikes.

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