#pre klance

It was not, in case you were wondering, a good time. 

Keith grit his teeth, planting his boots on the ground and half-walking half-climbing over to Allura, who was paler than Keith had ever seen her. The grip she had on her podium was tight enough to drain the blood completely from her knuckles. Despite his own fear, Keith’s heart softened for her. 

“How is it looking?” he asked, shouting over the noise of a thousand asteroids and a million laser strikes. All while their lions sat, drained of quintessence, locked in their hangars

One goddamn thing after another. Jesus. 

“It is looking bad,” Allura shouted, not taking her eyes off the space in front of her. “I can’t – Coran, I can’t hold it on my own!”

Coran looked back at her grimly. He had probably the most success keeping upright – seriously, was it posture or did he have a steel rod anchored to his back at all times – but even he was struggling against the whipping and shuddering of the massive castleship, attention focused on the controls. Trying to keep the shield up as well as possible, trying to get their own defenses running. Trying, as always, to keep the castle going, even when the odds were a million to nothing. 

“You can,” he encouraged. The effect was less encouraging when a massive asteroid hit the side of the bridge point-blank, throwing him right off the controls and splat into the walls. Despite Lance and Allura’s cries of alarm, he made a startlingly dignified crawl back to the deck controls.

Hell of a man, that advisor. 

He continued once he was steady, sweat beading on his brow but gaze soft and assuring. He waited for Allura to meet his eyes, then nodded, once. “Focus, girl. Hands on the spheres. Mind cool on the exhale. However we need to get out of this – you can guide us. Make your decision. Your team is behind you.”

“Yeah!” Pidge cheered, lifting her fist in emphasis from where Shiro held her steady, eyes trained on her computer screen. Blaring red lines of code Keith could not pretend to read flashing rapid speed in front of her, and she typed back at it just as fast, keeping their crackling systems at bay. “You got this!”

Allura breathed out. The tense line of her shoulders softened, just slightly, despite the ongoing chaos. She lifted her hands and rested them, gently, on the podium spheres as Coran instructed. They glowed. 

“We retreat,” she decided, nodding to herself. “We’re already low on quintessence, standing to fight will drain us dangerously. We must get to safety if we are to survive with our home intact.” She bit her lip, eyes opening. “But, uh, full disclosure, I have enough strength in me to open a wormhole and that is About It. I will be out of commission the moment it closes.”

Hunk shrugged. “We’ll catch you, then.”

“Try not to wormhole us into a black hole,” Shiro suggested, smiling slightly. “We’ll manage anything else, Princess.”

She laughed slightly, thankfully, but within seconds called out for everyone to brace themselves. Keith did as she heeded, or he tried to – but the castle got hit as he tried to crawl back to his seat, sprawling him on the floor. He glanced over at Allura, panicked, but her eyes were already glowing, and the space in front of them was already starting to warp. He swallowed roughly, squeezing his eyes shut. The floor was shaking too badly for him to get his bearings. He couldn’t get his feet under him, couldn’t stand, couldn’t dream to crawl to his seat. He stilled, resigning himself – he didn’t know exactly what would happen if he wasn't strapped down and protected during a wormhole jump, but it couldn’t be good. He had to hope for the best.

“God,” sighed a voice to his left, “you’d die without me, Dropout.”

A hand clenched the back of his jacket and yanked, pulling him tumbling onto another body. Quick as lightning a seatbelt was stretched over him, clicking into place just as the space in front of the castle finally warped, bright blue, and the entire bridge lit up so bright Keith was blind with it. 

When the light finally died down, Keith was half-convinced nothing had changed. The castle stopped shaking, but instead it was plummeting, hard and fast, controls dead and energy gone, towards the surface of a planet. 

“Someone catch Allura!” Coran shouted, and on queue the princess’ eyes rolled up in her head and she slumped forward. Luckily, Hunk had been more prepared than the rest of them, seatbelt already off and arms extended to catch her. He carried her back to her seat, buckling her in carefully, and strapping himself in next to her. Wise move – trying to crawl back to his own seat, fighting against the G-forces, would be near impossible.

There was a click, and then a shove, and then Keith got to feel those G-forces firsthand.

“What the hell!” he demanded, barely managing to catch himself on the arm of the blue paladin’s seat. “I coulda brained myself!”

Lance shrugged, playing for innocent, but a smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. Keith could’ve strangled him. “What? Thought I’d let you get back to your own chair. You're welcome for saving you, by the way.”

“Some saving, jerk! We're still falling!”

“Yeah. Personally, I would find somewhere to buckle up.”

“You’re so annoying,” Keith growled, and it was by spite alone that he managed to stomp back to his own seat and buckle himself in. He was bright red, anger making him hot – Lance always made him like this, so furious he could barely blink. One day they’d be making progress, working together like a dream, wiping the floor together, and the next it was like a switch was flipped. Like Lance was reminding himself that he and Keith could never get along. It was ridiculous, and Keith couldn’t for the life of him understand it. Was he so bad?

“Incoming!” Pidge shouted, shaking Keith back to himself. Her screen was now linked up with Coran’s, the only two things on in the entire castle – electronics seemed to come alive when Pidge touched them – and diagrams of the castle systems were blaring red, flashing with symbols Keith didn’t know, but recognised as bad. “The nav and power systems are down! It’s not safe to get anyone back there to force them back on manually, but I think I can get steering up in a sec. Shiro, I need your arm for power. Hunk, keep on Allura, make sure she’s upright when we crash, we don’t want a spinal injury. Lance, Keith, I’m turning steering over to you guys. Don’t fuck it up.”

Despite their bickering, both of them nodded. Neither of them particularly wanted to be turned into paladin pancake anytime soon, so they could collaborate for one thing. 

Seconds after Pidge spoke, a screen flickered to life in front of Keith. Stats blinked back up, glitching rapidly as they translated themselves into words and symbols Keith could understand. The hologram shifted and expanded to its usual 3D model, joystick in the middle, thrusters and controls to his left, a screen with Lance’s comm line to his right. In his little screen, Lance met his eyes, eyebrows raised in question. Keith nodded. Together, they wrapped their hands around the joysticks, breathed out, and let their minds fuse.

As always, it was a freaky feeling. Imagine the weird, shuddery feeling you get when you say the same thing as someone at the same time, voices layering, tone mixing, for a moment your own voice and the voice of a stranger synching into one. The weird, deja-vu-but-not of it, the uncanny valley feel of recognising your own voice but…different. 

Then multiply that freakiness by a hundred, and you still won’t quite get it. 

On some levels Keith was aware that he was his own person. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history – or well, some of it. Nothing about himself had changed. 

But at the same time, he was also Lance Esposita-McClain. He knew his name, knew his hands, knew his history, more of it than he could ever get from shared stories or mind melds. There’s no telling the way your sister’s arm feels hooked around your neck for the sixth noogie in as many minutes. There’s no explaining the way your breathing only gets calm with your feet in the saltwater. There’s no describing the curve of your mother’s smile. Nothing Keith was seeking out – no memories he would even know to look for – but they were there, simmering, triggered by a smell or the crook of his finger in a particular way. Memories stored in the body and the soul and the senses, not in the brain, shared when two consciousnesses become one. 

Lance’s mind was hyperspecific. It complemented Keith’s well, with all his flitting, quick detail-oriented observance. As Keith jumped from angle to angle, noticing the planet’s curve, the pull of its gravity, the heat of its atmosphere, Lance zeroed in on an island, one of the only ones big enough for them to land. While Keith kept their craft in control, steering along the air currents, Lance kept them directed, single-minded focus on a stretch of rocky beach – not exactly a soft landing, but not a lot of living things for them to destroy when they crash. (Keith would’ve chosen to land in the meadow. Crushing frogs and bugs or whatever is never something on his top priority list of things to avoid. But he didn’t argue when Lance nudged them towards what is about to be a very bumpy landing.)

“Brace yourself!” he shouted, not daring to look away to make sure his friends were buckled. Trusting that they were, he held his position, letting them plummet, coming closer and closer to splatting on the planet’s surface before finally yanking on the joystick as hard as he could. He felt Lance’s strength twist and tangle with his own, and together the two of them levelled the castle almost parallel with the ground, letting them glide on their own velocity until they slowed down enough to let the bottom of the craft brush against the rocky outcrop. 

It was the most turbulent landing Keith has ever felt, except maybe that time he and Lance crashed blindfolded into a sand dune, and every bump on the ground gave him whiplash. When the castle finally hit the ground for good, dragging them a gauge in the ground for several miles as friction finally slowed it to a stop, the leftover inertia yanked Keith forward so roughly the buckles of his seatbelt made something crack in his ribcage. When the castle finally stopped he got slammed back into his chair so hard he was almost surprised he didn’t fall right through the impenetrable material. 

It took a minute for everything to hit. His connection with Lance had been severed the second they hit the ground, too focused on being, y’know, crashed to keep holding on. After the shock of being tossed around like dice in a cup wore off, which did not take long, Keith’s body made it very clear that yeah, no, armour actually only does so much, and crash landing is one of those things that’s just bound to hurt. His skull pounded. At least one of his ribs was most definitely cracked. His wristed and knuckles ached from the strain of holding up the entire weight of the castle as he’d steered it. He was alive, obviously, but – Jesus. Being alive sucked.

“Sound off,” croaked Shiro from somewhere left of him.

“Ugh,” groaned Pidge. “Screw you, Keith, I hate it when you drive.”

“Next time I’ll be sure to let us crash,” Keith responded flatly.

“Um, you did, bozo, I asked you to land us –”

“The castle was dead! What did you expect me to –”

“Allura and I are both fine,” Hunk interrupted. Amusement lined his voice. “She’s still out, but she’s breathing fine, and I didn’t let her hit anything on impact. She should still get checked out, though.”

“Roger that,” Coran agreed. “Ease your worries, Number Two, you did well. I will have her in the MedBay as soon as our systems are up and running again.”

“Oh, whew, that’s a relief, because I didn’t want to say anything but she kinda jammed her elbow into my sternum by accident and I’m not blaming her or anything since she’s unconscious but I think my spleen may be a little dead, not a huge deal I’m sure but –”

“Everyone quiet!” barked Shiro. “That’s six accounted for! Who’s missing?”

Immediately, heart pounding, Keith whipped to his right. His stomach dropped. The Blue Lion Command Chair was empty – seatbelt torn somewhere on the shoulder, cracked helmet overturned carelessly on the seat. The crisp blue and white lines were marred by a small splash of red. Panic clawed its way up Keith’s throat, and he was out of his seat before he could register unbuckling his own straps, looking frantically around the bridge. 

“He’s here somewhere,” Pidge fretted, “he couldn’t’ve just disappeared –” 

Coran had a gloved hand clenched in his hair. “The windows and walls should be almost impenetrable, there is no way the crash broke them enough to let someone in –”

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck –”

“Guys,” a soft voice interrupted, and Keith could’ve collapsed with relief. The castle has been flipped sideways during the fall, floor suddenly now 90 degrees, and standing at the side of the control board, now the very high top, was Lance. For whatever reason he had climbed it while they bickered, and now stood very still, gloved hand pressed to the glass of the windshield. Blood trickled from his temple, tracing a line down the side of his face, disappearing in the neckline of his armour. “We got company.”

Shifting gears – Keith was about to tear him a new one, when Shiro says sound off you sound off – but froze when he looked out the window, following Lance’s gaze.

Marching towards them, in numbers Keith couldn’t pretend to count, was an army.

— — —

But he doesn't know that just yet.

It all starts with dolls. When lance was little he'd watch in awe as his elder sisters played with pretty dolls, their glossy hair and colorful tiny clothes mesmerizing to his young eyes. He was never allowed to play with them himself so he'd craft intricate stories for them in his head instead.

When his abuela found out she'd gifted lance her own collection, a beautiful set of vintage dolls all his own. With those dolls his stories continued on in his mind. As he himself aged he grew his collection himself.

When Rachel died, murdered with no answers, he kept her dolls too and gifted them back to the two daughters she'd left behind in his care.

His bf at the time helped all he could, he was a kind man Lance gad met in college. By then they'd dated for two years, by then he was a part of the family. To help the girls feel truly settled through Lances grief, his bf would do everything to make the girls feel at home.

Many therapy sessions, long nights and tears later Lance finds himself desperately retelling the stories he'd crafted for those dolls to the 5 and 7 year old in hopes it's enough to get them to bed.

To Lances surprise, It works.

So every night no matter their age Lance would tell his nieces, now daughters, stories to help them cope.

It's his boyfriend that suggest it first, for lance to write these stories out and in doing so even more details pour out into the pages he writes on.

Before long years pass and the girls can read these stories themselves, they ask for more, they call both Lance and his long-term Bf dad and it both warms his heart just as much as it shatters it.

The girls are 10 and 12 when lance hears from a publisher for the first time.

His first books are published without much flourish and the small family of four celebrates anyways.

The first time he sees his books out in the wild Lance is in awe. His bf simply smiles at him and encouraged him to continue.

So he does.

Things are well, if Lance ignored the screaming in his ear.

Lances happy little life is haunted by dreams that aren't quite dreams. He isn't sure what to call them. Visions? Nightmares? All he knows is they're vivid enough and they grow more frequent and disturbing as time passes.

He hasn't told anyone of them since the grief counseling years ago. He had to appear as sane as possible for the Girls sake. Lance refused to let anyone else have custody of them so he simply had to deal.

He'd talk to his lover about them had the last time not felt so....off.

Lance had laid in the man's arms describing the icy terror he'd feel from the images his head crafted.

How he'd always see a dead body, how it would be swallowed by the wet earth surrounded by pine and how it looked like his sister or her favored dolls.

And the man that had always been his biggest support looked at lance in fear for the very first time. "are you sure you're ok?"

Lance had to smile and say "yeah, it's just a reoccurring nightmare I think"

After that those "nightmares" started happening during the day, quick flashes of cold damp earth, a deep hole in the ground, disfigured bodies slowly growing in number.

It's no longer just his sister.

All had looked like dolls for the briefest moment.

He doesn't know what to make of it. So, Lance ignores it.

Things move forward as they always will. The youngest of his daughters takes the last name Clark because "Alana already has the McClain name! Daddy doesn't have anyone with his name so if I have it then both our dad's are honored."

His bf is overjoyed to be loved so deeply she'd want such a thing. Their happy little family growing more intertwined. Two perfect daughters with two perfect last names for their two perfect dads.

If only their happiness has lasted.

Their breakup was the shock of everyone that knew them both. It didn't end in flame and smoke but in an autumn chill soft and aching. They didn't fight, argue or scream. It was quiet and a mutual agreement.

Lances writer fame had taken off and they'd been begging him to move closer to their publishing office for in person meetings to help fan the flames of his growing popularity.

His bf had been growing a bit distant since then. He claims it's because he felt he was holding lance back and it was obvious the girls would go where he did.

Their breakup felt like a divorce.

The visions grow more detailed, he can actively smell them now.

The now family of three moves states and temporarily move in with an old friend, Keith Kogane.

Keith had moved out here five years ago and it just so happened to be the city his publisher wanted lance to live in.

His daughters, though still distraught, are excited to see their uncle Keith again and Keith is just as happy to see them in return.

He joyfully comments on how big they've gotten, he helps them all settle in and Keith sits with lance every night as he grieves the loss of a life he thought was forever.

Lance has a few months before a book tour starts to promote his newest series and Keith holds his little family together in his rough but gentle hands.

Those caring hands will watch his daughters while he's gone and lance couldn't be more grateful to have Keith in his life again.

Keith who never pried when lance was frozen with the horrible visions mid conversation. Keith who owned every single one of lances books and dedicated a shelf just to his Works.

This man helped keep his girls from being too hurt at the loss of another parent. This man helped get them therapist in the area and recommended lance the perfect schools for them.

Keith was actively helping his girls get through yet another thing to grieve and Lance Couldn't think of any better a situation for them to have fallen into.

He wouldn't know it just yet, and neither would Lance, just how much he was truly saving them.

~•~

When Lances nights grow too restless Keith recommends he start going for runs.

"It helped my mind alot When shiro was still MIA during his deployment. Running just....got my mind off things, helped me think."

And who is Lance to argue with reasoning like that?

His night runs become a frequent occurrence even through the biting cold of winter crawling in.

It's on his way back that he sees it in the yard of a neighbor that's no longer there: a doll.

It's pretty hair in a high ponytail reflecting the moonlight off the plastic.

Lance approaches, curious. This doll hasn't been there this entire time....has it?

He kneels down to pick it up from its resting place against the side of this old house. It reminds lance alot of vintage Barbie dolls, the kinds his sisters used to play with and never allow him to touch.

It's hands were shredded and face scratched near unrecognizable but her smile stayed intact. Perfect and glossy.

As he holds this doll in his hands the overwhelming sense of wrong evades lances senses. Something screams at him to check the rest of the yard, his gut churning as he steps further and further in.

There's another doll by the old shed. Another by the broken backdoor.

Each more disfigured than the last. Each left with the perfect, glossy smile. Each a vintage doll he used to see in his family home.

Horror and unease swallow lance whole and this time the vision takes lance violent into it's grasp.

This time everything is uncomfortably sharp. The scent of rain dampened mud, the cutting iron, the sounds of screaming.

He's in a thorn bush cutting deep into his trembling form, watching thru the gap between its branches hoping no one will hear him. He watches a man burry body after body into the large hole in the earth he always saw before.

Lance listens as the man sing songs his name saying soon it'll be his turn. Soon the tale will end.

And as the thorns shred his icy skin Lance wakes up snapped from the vision still in the old yard. He drops the doll and rushes back.

He ignores Keith's worry filled questions and hides away in the bathroom shaking from the chill left behind.

As lance strips his clothes dampened from the wet grass he looks in shock at the blood seeping through. His arms are covered in thorn cuts from a bush he was never actually in.

And lance doesn't know what to do when the next day the dolls he'd left behind are no longer there.

-

Lance had always had an odd sense. He just knew sometimes. It had started as soon as he could talk. His family got used to it and believed him every time. His friends didn't, not at first. But eventually they all did, even the more skeptical ones in college. They would all have their "event" that would prove it.

Dragging someone across the playground just before an unattended car rolled through the fence right where his friend would have been, taking a different path to class only to prevent another friend from being pushed down the stairs, and then in high school when he yanked his two best friends back from being crushed by heavy scenery in the school theatre seconds before it fell. Telling a friend in college to take a turn where they wouldn't normally, only to avoid an accident at the next light. He never found an explanation for this sense, he just had it.

One afternoon, Lance was walking toward the subway station after work. That sense tingled, telling him to take the long way around. It was a beautiful early autumn day, and he took a turn down a quiet side street, lined with old brick houses built one on top of the other, maple trees dotting the sidewalk and just beginning to turn red and gold. It wasn't an area for heavy foot traffic, and he wasn't surprised to not meet anyone. He even still early for his train despite the detour.

Lance wouldn't have looked back, except for that feeling telling him he should. Emergency vehicles blocked the street, a snarling man was pinned to the asphalt, bloody knife laying several feet away, while the stabbing victim was loaded into a waiting ambulance. If the attack was random, that would have been him in the ambulance. He felt for the actual victim, he always did, but it was overshadowed by a sense of relief that it wasn't him.

Later, on the train home, he got a feeling of having been watched, but shook it off. There were a lot of people who'd stopped to watch. It was when he was falling asleep on his couch to the drone of the tv that he bolted upright, remembering someone small and unobtrusive, with round glasses and wild honey blond hair. They were across the street from him, facing not the mess of the aftermath, but him. It was unnerving, but hours past, and he decided to ignore it.

Three days later, Lance was out running a few errands when he got the feeling again. He waited beside the shop door instead of stepping out into the parking lot, just missing the elderly driver stomping on the gas instead of the brake and crashing into the potted bushes that separated the shop from the one next door.

He'd always help when he could, and called emergency services while making sure the driver wasn't hurt - she was fine, just shaken - and he waited until they were on their way to the hospital before resuming his day. Several people had stopped to either help or check if they were needed, and Lance hadn't realized that one of those people, a tall, broad guy - the orange headband stood out - hovered at the back of the crowd far longer than anyone else.

After that, Lance started paying more attention to the people around him when his sense went off. The next time was in his office building, he took the stairs down instead of the elevator, the doors stuck on the first floor with the car stuck halfway. This time it was a different guy, taller than the last one, with a white streak in his hair and a prominent scar across his nose, who sat in the reception area, watching as Lance was able to get the single person in the elevator safely to the floor while maintenance was still on the way.

The next incident left him shaken. The days were getting shorter, and it was past dark when he turned down the street his apartment building sat on. Halfway down the block, he felt the familiar tingle, and slowed down accordingly. A muffled shout caught his attention, and he looked down an alley just in time to see the streetlight reflect off the barrel of a gun.

Without thinking, he ran in, disarming the gun's wielder with the kickboxing he hadn't done in years but still remembered. Stunned, the attacker laid on the pavement while their near-victim called for help. There was no crowd this time, and his watcher was far more obvious, despite her trying to look like she was just passing by. Pure white hair sparkled in the yellow light of the streetlamps, bright blue eyes fixed on him and him alone.

The attacker was taken away and the victim refused a trip to the ER, leaving Lance to finally head home in a daze. He was surprised at his own actions, that was a fucking gun for fuck's sake, not to mention the kickboxing he thought he;d forgotten. But that girl wasn't there by accident. None of them had been, he realized. They couldn't be. But why. Why were they watching him, and only turning up when something happened? His sense would go off again, it always did, but this time he'd be ready.

Three days later, it happened again. No one was hurt, but the subway train he usually took was offline that day due to a failure on the rail. Fortunately, there was a metro rail that ran close enough to his office, and he was just in time to catch it.

The trip itself was blissfully uneventful, it was when he got off with dozens of other people that he felt it. Looking up, Lance saw the sparks from the electrical lines that ran some of the city's buses. He yelled, loud enough to get plenty of attention, people startled into listening. He cleared the immediate area just before the line crackled, showering the road with white hot flaming sparks.

The road was shut down, transit maintenance arriving to investigate the cause and make notes for repairs, all of which took enough time for the crowds to disperse. But Lance stayed, knowing that someone would be watching him from a distance.

He scanned the area, spotting that day's person. Roughly his height, maybe a bit shorter, black hair, pale skin, startling violet eyes that stared right at him. Lance waited until this latest person saw him staring right back. The new guy smiled to himself, and walked over.

"There you are," he said.

"You've been watching me," Lance answered, "Why?"

"Because. You belong with us."

Lance knew it was true. Whoever these people were, his place was with them.

"We can help. Gift like yours isn't all that rare, but the way you feel it, that is unusual. Come with us, we'll show you what you can really do."

That was a very tempting offer, but… "What about work? I think my office will notice I'm missing?"

"Already taken care of. Nothing bad, don't worry, but you're free to join us without worrying about anything."

Oddly, Lance wasn't worried. But he was curious. "Who are you guys anyway?"

He smiled. "The Witches of Voltron."

Lance immediately felt safer than he ever had. The tingle flared, but instead of a warning, it was an odd sense of familiarity. He knew this was where he belonged. Without question. He nodded, stepping closer to wherever this witch would lead him.

"I'm Keith, by the way."

Lance nodded. "I think I already knew that."

Keith laughed, shaking his head. "Of course you did."

"What does that mean?"

The noise that clocks usually make, though not this one. This clock was the generic clock that every classroom in the school had in the corner. A silent clock with a standardized, minimalist design. Lance imagined that it made noises as it spun.

Why is Lance focused so much on a clock? He doesn't know. One thing he does know is that he's ahead on classwork in this class and that means that the teacher couldn't care less with what Lance does as long as it isn't loud.

So he drifted off, lost in thought as he stared at that clock from his seat in the far back. While he did so, he twirled a pencil in his hands. Suddenly, the sensation of the pencil slipping out of his grasp. He'd accidentally flung the damn pencil all the way across the room.

Click clack, click clack

The sound of black leather boots moving across the vinal tiles. Very pretty things, they would be if they weren't so worn. You can tell that they're loved. The soles were tall. Combat boots.

The combat boots were owned by a secretly scrawny, pale boy who sat in the very front. He wore loose ripped jeans with chains hanging down from the belt loops and an oversized MCR hoodie which, like the boots, looked well loved. As Lance's eyes wandered higher up the boy's figure, he couldn't help but notice that the boy's dark black hair was tied up in a small ponytail.

Lance tried to focus really hard on memorizing what the boy looked like, knowing full well that he would remember the boy's features anyway. He never does. His brain's just messed up like that.

Lance got a little distracted again. It's not his fault. It's just the clacking of the boy's boots. They're a little too loud. It's not like he needs to be doing something anyway. It's fine.

The cold sensation of his pencil's eraser being pressed against his face. He looked up to find the boy holding said pencil to his face.

"Hey, you uh- you dropped your pencil."

"O-oh. Than- thanks. Uhh Keith, right?"

"Y-yeah."

Lance was definitely a bit frazzled. Maybe Keith's boots wouldn't be the only thing about Keith that would be distracting him next time.

-------

:D

Post is here!

------

Keith felt his eyes tugging themselves open. Everything felt heavy and he was suddenly aware of the dull pain that throbbed over his body.

He tried to focus on the bright light above him, trying to focus on the ceiling tile next to it. He forced his eyes to blink, trying to push away the fatigue that sat on him.

He turned his head to the left, slowly. He hated how slow he had to move.

He knew Lance was sitting by him, but he couldn't keep his eyes open long enough to look at him. Lance was his best friend, and maybe...just maybe he had a tiny crush on him but being friends was enough for him.

He was grateful for Lance, after all, how many friends would be willing to spend hours sitting in the hospital, waiting for him to be released, letting the nurse explain everything that was going to happen, and sitting there for hours by himself while Keith was in surgery.

Yeah, Keith liked him.

He opened his mouth to say something, he thinks he wanted to call out to Lance; but he was quickly discovering how hard it was to think through anesthesia.

He must have said something since Lance scooched closer to him from where he sat next to him, a soft smile on his face. "Hey man, how're doing?"

Keith isn't sure if he nodded his head or not, he was too focused on blinking. He loved looking at Lance, his soft features, his lopsided smile, the ocean-blue eyes that seemed to stare into his soul. Lance was a work of art that Keith always wanted to observe.

It wasn't new knowledge that Keith wasn't much for physical affection. He was very independent, his upbringing made it so it had to be. He lived by himself, he paid his own bills, never asking for anyone to even cover his gas when he drove them somewhere. Keith liked being independent, he liked not having to rely on anyone.

But right now, all he wanted to do was be held, or hold someone else. He wanted to be comforted, in a way he never really desired.

He found himself leaning more on his left side, reaching across himself with his right hand, finding it laying limply on the moveable railing of his bed.

"What was that?" Lance leaned forward, bringing his face closer to try to understand whatever Keith was mumbling.

Keith made a soft whimper, the pain was dull but still enough to make him uncomfortable. "Ha-d"

Lance scrunched his eyebrows, "what? Want your phone?"

Keith pushed most of his energy into shaking his head once or twice before he took another deep breath; god he was so tired. "Want...han-"

"My...my hand?"

Keith closed his eyes, trying to reach across the bed more; even though he knew his hand didn't change much. "Hand."

"Uhh okay." Lance reached up and grabbed his hand, intertwining their fingers gently. "You okay buddy?"

Keith attempted another nod, his eyelids already closed as sleep tugged at him.

---

Lance watched the other boy sleep, his thumb rubbing small circles on the other boy's hand. Keith looked peaceful but he knew he was itching to be awake. Keith was not one to want to lay around all day, let alone take a nap.

"Did he fall asleep again?"

Lance looked up at the nurse who was poking her head into their area. "Yeah, he seemed very tired."

She pushed the curtain back some and stepped into the room, checking his IV bag. "Anesthesia can be hard for people to shake sometimes. Just let him sleep." She looked at how their fingers were intertwined. "Are you his boyfriend?"

Lance shook his head, his eye falling back to the sleeping boy. "No just friends," he squeezed the other boy's hand softly.

She left the room with instructions to call for her when he woke up again and Lance found his free hand smoothing down Keith's hair. He had taken the week off of work to take care of him and he was fully prepared to deal with whatever healing Keith needed.

Crush aside, Lance was thrilled that Keith trusted him enough to ask him for help. And apparently, he trusted him enough to hold his hand and find comfort in him.

Lance found a small smile on his face as he watched the other boy; he hadn't seen Keith this relaxed in a while. "Get some rest mullet."

-----

Did Lance give him a forehead kiss? Idk man

Did they kiss a couple of days after Keith got home? Yes.

I had this half way done when you send the ask for thank you for giving me the final motivation for this.

Hmmm…Let’s see what I can do with this…(I’m gonna go with pre-relationship Klance and Keith’s first time seeing that Lance has a tattoo)

Keith never knew before because he’d never taken a shower at the same time as Lance. Most of the time he takes his showers long after everyone else has finished. And he’s never been to the pool with Lance in attendance either so he’s never seen Lance in a state of undress.

But today…today is different. He comes into the showers and hears the water running. Just in case it’s the ladies he calls into the room. If it’s them he can always come back later.

“Who’s in there?”

“Just me! I’m almost done!” Lance answers back.

Just another guy. Just Lance. And he’s almost finished so he goes ahead in. Lance is at a nozzle covered in foamy soap. You almost can’t even see the skin underneath there’s so much lather. Keith snorts and rolls his eyes. Lance is over the top about everything–even how much bodywash he uses.

He tries not to let his eyes wander as he turns on his own nozzle and adjusts the heat. But his curiosity gets the best of him and he looks discretely over his shoulder.

Firm calves. Slender thighs. Ass blessedly covered in soap because if it wasn’t Keith would definitely get caught staring. He’s about to turn back when Lance steps into the stream of water and all the soap slips from his body. Keith’s eyes blow wide at what the water reveals underneath.

Lance has a tattoo. And not just any tattoo–it’s a full back tattoo. In color too! It spans from his shoulders to his–Keith coughs and turns away. Jesus, it goes all the way down to his ass. How long did he have to sit still for that? How painful was it?

“Nice tattoo,” Keith blurts while shampooing his hair.

“What? Oh,” Lance hums. “That’s right, you haven’t seen it before.”

“It’s a wave, right? Like one of those old Japanese paintings?” Keith guesses from the whole three seconds he had to look at it.

“That’s right!” Lance says with excitement. “But did you see the change I made to it?”

Keith shakes his head, resolving not to look again or else give himself away. Lance in his enthusiasm comes over to Keith’s shower, still fully naked, and shows Keith his back. Keith tries oh how he tries not to look at that ass which is now two feet from him.

“Look, see? Normally there’s a mountain there. Mt Fuji,” Lance says, craning his hand behind him to tap it. “But I had them change it to my home in Varadero. Cool right?”

“Y-Yeah, very cool,” Keith admits and averts his eyes to get back to washing. “Must have hurt.”

“Only really hurt on my spine and right at my tailbone,” Lance admits, tapping right at the top of his ass crack. “I wasn’t able to sit for days. But it wasn’t nearly as bad as spring break–I couldn’t sit for a week!” he laughs.

At that joke, Lance turns and goes back to his stuff. Keith eyes him bending over to pick up his shampoo and towel. Thankfully Lance puts a towel on so Keith won’t get caught staring at his ass or anything else.

“You have any tattoos?” Lance asks curiously and Keith shakes his head. “Shame. Your skin looks like it would take ink well. Especially on your chest. Later Keith.”

Lance leaves but now Keith finds himself thinking about tattoos. Lance’s tattoos mostly. About Lance riding him backward so he can run his fingers over waves as he bounces on his cock. And then he thinks about a tattoo of his own, on his chest like Lance suggested. Maybe something to compliment Lance’s like ethereal flames. A fiery Phoenix. With flames licking up his chest, flames that Lance could press his cool lips to, to lick and lap the fire burning inside him as they fuck.

I liked this, it was really fluffy. Also red tulips mean true love and white means worthiness, because let's be honest, Keith might think he's not worth Lance's love. Also Alexander Jean's Rose and Violets is so good and you should listen to it Childhood Friends

Lance shoved his duffle bag into his locker, trying to make sure neither his or Keith’s jackets fell out. He’d found he didn’t have swim practise that night and he didn’t want to have to drag his bag back home. Once everything was set, he went to close the locked but stopped at the sight of the pictures on the inside door, making him smile. It had been at a cheer competition back during football season, Lance in the school’s colours of black and grey with the multicoloured stripes and Keith dressed to support. Another picture was one of Keith and Lance when they were younger sitting on the back porch of Keith’s parent’s lake house. Another one even younger where the two of them were covered in paint from the first paint war they started on purpose, not on accident. They still got in trouble, but it had been worth it. It felt like it was the first time they really became friends.