#rolling 20

Keith just rose an unimpressed eyebrow at Lance, then wordlessly plucked the die from his fingers—Lance's skin tingled where their hands made contact—and tossed it onto the table, where it rattled around for a second before coming to a halt.

“Ah! Another seventeen!” Coran exclaimed, a cheery lilt to his voice, unfazed by Lance's huffing and puffing nearby.  “Very good, then, Keith.  So …”

———

Pike was generally not one for heroic quests.  He found them interesting, sure—but he wasn't one to be persuaded by the mere promise of noble accolades.  Money and fun, though—those were motivators he could get behind.  A little (or, well, a lot of) cash and a bit of adventure was all it took to catch his attention, and he prided himself on showing off his genius plans and his uncanny ability to outmaneuver the enemy.

He had agreed to join up with this traveling group on their mission to defeat something called a Xloraznor under the condition that he would: a) receive a sparkling heap of silver coins as his cut of the reward, and b) get to satisfy his thrill-seeking, wanderlust desires to his heart's content.

He considered his flirting skills to be not only top-notch, but also an essential part of his ideal adventure fantasy, and so it was getting on his nerves that a certain companion of his seemed incapable of letting him do his job.  Every time he attempted to charm his way past an enemy encounter, the party's obnoxious druid decided to attack the target instead, like some kind of boneheaded barbarian.  It was denying Pike any opportunity to show off his brilliant seduction skills, and it was making this journey much longer and more combat-heavy than it needed to be.

“Aren't druids supposed to, like, value life and all that?” Pike grumbled, kicking pebbles as the group trekked through the Forest of Clianuun on their way to Elmora-by-the-Falls.  “I thought that was your whole thing.”

Thunderstorm Darkness, in all his ridiculous, brooding glory, did not even spare Pike a glance as he stepped over a fallen branch and continued following the others toward a faint sound of running water.  “Do I look like that kind of druid?” he replied dryly, his tone flat.

Pike gave him a quick once-over.  Thunderstorm certainly had the animalistic qualities of a stereotypical druid, but admittedly not the nurturing, life-loving ones.  His attire was dark and rugged, revealing enough to expose rather dangerous-looking muscles along his arms, which started off pale and faded into dark black hands with vicious claws—a notable sign, along with his pointed ears and glowing silver eyes, of the galra blood in his veins.  His jet black hair fell in a braid down to his knees, and long bangs framed his angular face, which was decorated in red paint that Pike still suspected might have traces of enemy blood in it.  Thunder always seemed offended at the implication, but hey, he was the one giving off constant murder-vibes.

In all honesty, Pike probably would have protested Thunder’s place in their group by now, if it weren’t for the mildly annoying fact that he found the druid to be unfairly attractive.  It wasn’t his fault, okay?  Really, who walks around with their biceps just hanging out for the world to see?

“… Guess not,” Pike eventually muttered beneath his breath, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.  He opened his mouth, ready to formulate some off-the-cuff insult—

“Look!” Valayun's voice rang out ahead.  “There it is! Elmora-by-the-Falls!”  She pointed through the foliage and took off into the brush, and a moment later, her gasp sounded in the distance.  “Oh, it's beautiful …”

Eager to lay eyes on whatever Valayun was gushing about, the rest of the party picked up the pace and pushed their way through a swath of hanging fern-like vines.  What they saw when they emerged on the other side was … well, Pike thought “beautiful” was an astonishing understatement on Valayun's part.

Pristine marble towers stretched high into the sky, rivaling the treeline and glinting in the afternoon sunlight.  Vibrant pink ivy climbed up their shining surfaces, and expertly secured rope bridges connected the peaks of each tower so that citizens could easily commute from one to the next.  Flowers of all shapes and colors grew along the ropes and spilled down in great draping clusters to hang over the streets and houses below.  The buildings on the ground level looked like giant, upturned clay pottery—ruddy orange and round, with symmetrical designs carved all over the outsides.  No two houses looked the same.

The entire town of Elmora-by-the-Falls was bordered by a three-foot-tall hedge that was home to a species of flying bug that glowed violet, even in the daytime.  They buzzed, but not like bees—almost like birds, actually; their humming had a lovely sort of melody.  Pike found himself perking his ears just to catch the tune.

Beyond the grand display was the town's namesake: Clianuun Falls.  It was magnificent and awe-inspiring: bright blue water catching every ray of the sun as it tumbled over the crest of the cliff side against which Elmora-by-the-Falls was nestled.  The water drummed ceaselessly into a pool below, which then flowed out into a small river that burbled playfully as it trailed off into the forest.

Once the party managed to break themselves out of their trance, they started tentatively moving toward the town gate, staying quiet for fear of shattering the tranquility of the scene before them.  Even so, the purple bugs scattered to avoid the group, and as they passed by the riverbank, a pair of water sprites stopped dancing along the surface and chirped to each other before flying further downstream.

“This place is so pretty I could cry,” Block breathed, gripping his staff tightly with both hands—a nervous habit of his.  He sniffed once, and his lip quivered.  “Aw, man, I am crying!”

Meklavar patted him on the back, as high up as she could reach.  “Keep it together, Block,” she warned, her eyes alert.  “Just because it's pretty and flowery doesn't mean it's friendly.  Some species of flower are known for being beautiful, but will spit poison in your face if you aren't—”

“Relax, Mekky-Mek,” Pike said, then winced when Meklavar shot him a glare.  “Yeah, okay, the nickname could use some work.  Anyway!”  As they neared the gate, he turned around, opting to walk backwards while he fixed the dwarf with a cocky grin.  “I'm something of an expert in mood-reading.  And this place?”  He jerked a thumb over his shoulder.  “Good vibes, my small, cynical friend.”  His tail swished back and forth at a lazy pace.  “This is gonna be a piece of cake.  We drop in, get what we need, maybe meet a few lovely—aiee!”

Pike jumped a full two feet in the air when he felt his back press against something solid and distinctly person-shaped.  He scrambled for balance and spun around, finding himself face-to-face with a grim-looking guard in a full suit of armor.  Her hand was gripped tightly around a halberd, and her eyes spoke of danger.

“Outsiders are not welcome in Elmora-by-the-Falls,” she intoned in a deep, gravelly voice.  “You will leave now.”  She raised her halberd and slammed the butt of the weapon into the ground, making a sharp cracking noise that had Pike covering his sensitive ears.

“Gah!  Hey, no no no no,” he protested, ears now flat against his head.  “I—uh.”  He cleared his throat, put on his best, most charming smile, and batted his eyes up at the woman.  “I'm sure there's something I could do to convince you …”

She met his sultry gaze with a hard stare.

Pike winced a little, but recovered quickly.  “You know … some kind of … arrangement, between you and me?”  He slowly, slowly licked his lips.  “You'll find I have many talents … especially in the—”

———

“I cast Moonbeam.”

“Wha—Keith!”  Lance clambered over the table, his long limbs flailing as he grabbed the die before Keith could so much as twitch.  “Stop ruining my class fantasy!”  His eyes were blazing with genuine annoyance as he shimmied back into his seat, clutching the die to his chest protectively.  “I have very high charisma!  This is supposed to be my thing!”

Keith returned Lance's glare with one of his own.  “Has it occurred to you that maybe my class fantasy doesn't involve sitting here watching you flirt relentlessly with every single NPC we come across?” he retorted, then reached a hand out toward Lance's closed fist.

“Back!” Lance objected, smacking at Keith's intrusive fingers with his free hand while lifting the one with the die as far away from Keith as he could.  “Back, you monster!”  His arm protested the strain, but he held strong as Keith started grappling with him, trying to pull the die-hand back down while Lance smooshed a palm into his face.  It would have been easier if Lance’s traitorous heart wasn’t beating rapidly in its cage at the physical contact, but … he wasn’t complaining.  In fact—

And then Keith stood up, and Lance realized:

Oh.  That's not good.

Lance shrieked and pulled his hand back down to his chest, turning away and curling into a ball with his precious die tucked securely against his sternum.  He managed to remain impervious to Keith's prodding for a few moments, until Keith decided to switch to the tickling tactic, at which point Lance broke down into laughter and gasped for mercy.  Keith, like the absolute demon he was, just smiled.

“… As entertaining as I'm sure this is for both of you,” Shiro spoke up, causing Keith to choke on his own spit while Lance willed his cheeks to cool down, “I have a Zumba class with Adam in an hour and I still need to get changed, so I'd appreciate it if we could keep things moving.”  His mouth quirked with faint amusement, but his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.

Keith sat back down and turned to Lance, raising an eyebrow expectantly.  He outstretched his hand, palm up, and made the universal “give it here” motion.

Lance grumbled as he pulled himself upright, pursing his lips and eyeing Keith contemplatively for a moment.  “Actually,” he said, his lips twisting into a smirk just as Keith's started to twist into a scowl.  “Coran, I have an idea.”  His heartbeat was still recovering from earlier, but he managed to slip on a cocky facade.  “So, you wanna go around killing everyone I flirt with, huh?”

Keith's frown deepened with confusion.

Lance's grin spread.

Keith's eyes widened.

———

“Why, Thunder, has anyone ever told you your eyes are like the sparkling gemstones of the Ilygia Mountains?” Pike inquired, sidling up to the druid's side as the others watched with expressions that ranged from surprise to intrigue to disgust.

Thunderstorm's face darkened with a flush that crept from his throat to his ears—

———

“My character would not blush!”

“I'm sorry, Keith, but that was a very good roll,” Coran admitted, looking up from the game.  “Thunder isn't immune to Pike's advances.”  He shrugged helplessly, but there was a twinkle in his eye.

———

“I love this outfit of yours, Thunder … It shows off your delicious biceps … How did you get so strong?”

“After my older sister was killed by a band of Arovian brigands, I swore to train every day so I could avenge—”

———

“Coran!  You can't just reveal my character's origin story without my consent!”

“My dear boy, Pike is quite the charismatic fellow!  Now, where were we?  You begin to feel like you can truly trust Pike with your heart's deepest secrets …”

“Hold on.  Lance, gimme that stupid die.  Coran, I'm rolling to seduce.”

———

If anyone had told Pike at breakfast this morning that he would be flirting with Thunderstorm Darkness before sundown, he would have laughed it off entirely.  The druid was as prickly as they came, and he had acquired a nasty habit of relying on violence for, well, everything.  Not exactly the safest target for Pike's romantic endeavors.  Sure, he was admittedly a handsome man, but he seemed like the type to bite Pike's hand off if he got too close.

But, here Pike was.

With his hand.  On Thunder's cheek.  In broad daylight.

This was meant to be a joke—a brief reprieve to lighten the mood and perhaps get that stuffy guard to crack a smile.

And now Pike was falling in love.  Which, first of all, what?  It was only a few minutes ago that he had started flirting for fun, but things turned very serious very quickly, and now suddenly he was practically swooning as Thunder turned his head to press his lips to the palm of Pike's hand.  Again, what?  If someone told him right now that some omnipotent force had waved a magic wand and decreed the two to be head-over-heels for one another, Pike would probably believe it.

Whatever the case, Pike was never one to question the power of true love.  And as Thunder fixed him with a heavy-lidded stare, dark and intense and enamored, Pike felt the words tumble out of his mouth before he could stop them:

“Will you marry me?”

———

“Oh my God,” Hunk whispered, biting his fist and watching with wide eyes.  “Oh my God, he went for it.”

Lance puffed out his chest, ignoring the blush that he felt flooding his face.  “That's right,” he declared, placing his arms behind his head and leaning back on the couch.  “I went for it.”  He fixed Keith with his laziest smirk, letting his left knee knock into Keith's right leg teasingly.  “I win.”

Lance thought Keith was sure to burn a hole in both of their legs from how hard he was staring at the point of contact, but instead, he just turned an unreadable gaze toward Lance and said, “Oh really?”

Lance's smirk faltered.

Keith didn't look away.  “Coran, I say …”

———

“Yes.”

Pike's blood pounded in his veins as the words reached his ears.  He blinked owlishly at Thunder, feeling his heart overflow with immeasurable joy, and suddenly beamed.  “Yes?” he repeated in awe, his smile blinding as he leaned in close.  Thunder's expression was fond and doting as he mirrored the movement, tilting his head as his lips grew closer to Pike's—

“What a joyous occasion!”

Pike and Thunder pulled back a bit, exchanging a bewildered glance before looking over toward the gate.  There stood, of all people, the guard from earlier—surrounded now by a small crowd of Elmoran citizens.  Her face stretched into a broad, happy grin as she regarded the pair, and the crowd, which consisted mostly of humans and a handful of elves, erupted in cheers.

“Congratulations,” she announced, stepping toward Pike and Thunder, both of whom were mildly frazzled by the shouting.  “Elmora-by-the-Falls is most honored that you have chosen our town as the location of your engagement.  Truly, we are humbled and grateful beyond words for your kindness this day.”  She laid a hand on both of their shoulders, her expression warm and inviting.  “Please, allow us to welcome you into our home.  You and your companions are our most treasured guests.”

Pike was still stunned into silence, but after a quick jab from Thunder, he nodded swiftly.  “Uh, yeah! Yes. Totally.”  He hurried to catch up as the guard spun around and marched off toward the town.  Finally, he and Thunder managed to spare a look over their shoulders.  The rest of the party just gaped, wordlessly shuffling forward as excited citizens began beckoning them all through the gates.

Elmora-by-the-Falls was even more splendid from the inside, Pike decided as he followed the guard through the winding cobblestone streets.  He looped an arm around Thunder's elbow and peered about in amazement, blinking as small children ran past them with cries of “a wedding! A wedding!”  Citizens stopped in the street to gawk at the procession, and soon people started emerging from their round, engraved houses to offer well-wishes and words of gratitude.  The children returned a few minutes later with two long necklaces made of pink ivy from the towers, and Pike graciously accepted both of them when Thunder failed to do anything other than squint in confusion.

“Thunder,” Pike admonished, donning his own necklace and then reaching to put the other one on the druid.  “It's a necklace. You wear it on your neck, stupid.”  Pike winced and shook his head all of a sudden.  “I mean, sweetheart.”  Weird.

———

“Ugh,” Lance groaned, planting his head on the table after his little slip-up with Pike's dialogue.  “This is too hard.  Let's get a divorce.”

“We're not married yet, 'sweetheart.'”

“Don't you 'sweetheart' me, sweetheart,” Lance grouched, peeling his face from the table and jabbing an accusatory finger in Keith's direction.  “This would never have happened if you hadn't tried to turn this into a flirting competition.”

Keith hummed, leaning back in his seat and picking at his gloves with an air of fake casualness.  “Well, at least this answers the question of who wins.”  His eyes, aglow with the glint of challenge, darted in Lance's direction.  Lance's throat suddenly felt quite dry. “Since you're throwing in the towel.”

Lance opened his mouth once, shut it, opened it again, then began making blustery noises of inarticulate indignation.  There was no way he could let Keith win at romance.  He would never live it down.

“Uh, no no,” Hunk interrupted, frowning sternly at the two of them.  “Nobody's throwing in the towel.  In case you've forgotten, the sorceress told us we need Clia Root from this place, and the only reason we're allowed to set foot here right now is because you two—”  He pointed at them both emphatically.  “—are gonna make moon eyes at each other and smooch under a flower pot or wash your armpits in the Clianuun Falls or whatever these guys do to celebrate a wedding.”  His voice and expression left no room for argument.

Lance grimaced at the mental image, but nevertheless turned to meet Keith's gaze.  They both stared at each other for a moment, then simultaneously nodded in silent agreement.

———

So, it turned out that weddings were kind of a huge deal in Elmora-by-the-Falls.  Like, a monumental deal.  Pike had done some asking around while he was being whisked through the streets.

According to Elmoran tradition, marriage was not something to be taken lightly.  It was extremely rare for romantic partners to decide to join each other in union; the vast majority of Elmoran people spent their whole lives unmarried, to the extent that there was, on average, only one wedding per decade in Elmora-by-the-Falls.  A wedding was said to bring the town spiritual favor and good luck for an entire year afterwards, so when someone did get married, it was received with overwhelming joy by the general populace.

It just so happened that Elmora-by-the-Falls had not hosted a wedding for thirteen long years.  They were practically itching to get the ceremony started, and so it was not long before Pike and Thunder found themselves shoved out onto a marble balcony by a plethora of eager hands.

The balcony was already meticulously arranged: a sturdy burgundy cloth canopy swayed in the breeze overhead, acting as a sort of ceiling, and holes had been cut in the fabric to allow flowering vines to drape down in various places.  The edge of the balcony was lined with a shorter variant of the bushes that bordered the town; the strange little purple bugs glowed as they flitted around harmlessly.  The sun was beginning to set now, so their glow was more prominent against the backdrop of Elmora-by-the-Falls at evening time.  To the left, the waterfall roared; it was far enough not to be an inconvenience to the ceremony, but close enough to cast a fine, cooling mist that Pike reveled in.

The centerpiece, however, was the small white table set up at the edge of the balcony.  It was simple and square, about two feet high, and on its surface sat two small wooden bowls, a pitcher of water, and an array of sparkling powders whose rich and varied hues reminded Pike of a spice stall.

Pike and Thunder shared a look, then instinctively reached for each other's hands—because that was a thing now, them being stupidly in love—before approaching the table.  A cheery old Elmoran woman followed behind, hurrying them along, while the rest of the party spread out to the sides of the balcony and watched with a mixture of fascination and wariness.

“There you go, you two, right up to the front,” the old woman babbled, then grabbed them and turned them to face each other.  “Now, you see the soul dust?”  She gestured to the wooden display piece that held all of the powders in little carved-out holes.  Pike shot a look of alarm toward Thunder and mouthed “soul dust” at him, but the woman either did not notice or did not care.  “You will select the soul dust that you feel best embodies your partner.  It must be an instinctive decision.  Follow what you are most drawn to.”  One crooked finger pointed at the pitcher of water.  “You will use the pitcher to fill the bowls with the waters of Clianuun Falls.”  The finger shifted down toward the two small bowls.  “And then you will pinch your chosen powder into your bowl.  It will disperse in the water, and you will drink it.”

Pike waited for her to continue.

She did not.

“Is that it?” Thunder spoke up, voicing Pike's own confusion.

The woman huffed indignantly.  “Is that it?” she repeated, shaking her head and tutting as she turned around and hobbled off to the seats in the back.  “The boy is about to bind his soul in sacred matrimony, and he asks, 'Is that it?'”  Her muttering became unintelligible as she lowered herself into a plush chair.

Thunder blinked once at her, then turned back to Pike with a glimmer of determination in his eye.  “Ready?”  He squeezed Pike's hand briefly before finally dropping it.

Pike flashed him his most swoon-worthy grin.  “Born ready, baby!”  He whirled around to face the table and immediately grabbed the pitcher, pouring it into his bowl—and into Thunder's, because he was a gentleman, of course.  He wasted no time in inspecting the powders; he knew exactly what he wanted, and he spotted it instantly: a bright vermilion, twinkling like fairy dust.  With delicate precision, he transferred several pinches of the substance into his bowl and gasped as the water took on a glittering red color and began to emit a beautiful glow.

Thunder seemed similarly certain of his choice—an azure powder, Pike noted with no small amount of intrigue—but far less concerned with finesse.  He was just scooping the stuff into his bowl as if he was seasoning soup.  It was maddening, but it was also very Thunder, and for some reason that was no longer a negative assessment.

Thunder's water swirled into a shimmering blue, then started glowing just as Pike's had. The druid let out a soft “oh” and waited for a second, then gently—surprisingly gently, considering his manhandling of the soul dust—cupped the bowl in his hands and cradled it in front of his chest.  He turned to face Pike again, waiting for the man to mirror him, and when he did, they both stood there, suspended for a long moment.  Their gazes flickered quietly between the bowls and each other.

“Well,” Pike finally chirped, taking a deep breath.  “Bottoms up.”  He knocked the whole thing back in one go, coughing a bit when it went down the wrong way; Thunder merely watched with amusement and tipped his own bowl back, and their Elmoran audience erupted with praise.  “Eurgh,” Pike groaned, wincing at the flavor.  “Your soul tastes weird.”  He raised his hands in a placating fashion when he caught Thunder's flat look.  “But like, weird in a good way!  You know, in a romantic way!”

Thunder, impatient as ever, simply grabbed Pike's bowl, stacked it over his own, set them both down on the table, and placed his clawed hands on Pike's hips.  “I want to kiss you now,” he stated honestly and with no hesitation.  His lips glowed with a faint blue gloss—the remnants of his soul dust concoction.  It made Pike's heart stutter.

“Wh—uh—”  Pike paused for a second to regain himself.  “Um.”  He watched as Thunder tilted his head, his gaze penetrating and inquisitive as he waited for permission.  His eyes dipped to Pike's mouth.  Pike swallowed.  Waited.  And then: “Yes.”  And then again: “Yes yes yes yes.  Come here.  Yes.”

And Pike marveled at the rumbling laughter that escaped Thunder's lips as he leaned in, more than happy to oblige.

———

“Sorry, everyone, but I think that's all we have time for tonight,” Coran announced, his tone predictably peppy as he reached across the table to collect the various devices and dice that had gotten scattered about over the course of the previous couple of hours.  “An excellent session, if I do say so myself.  At this rate, you'll get that Clia Root in no time!”

“What?!” Lance interjected, rising to his feet.  He barely noticed as Keith stood with him.  “We only just got to kiss!  You can't just cut it off there!”  He spread his arms with outrage, smacking Keith in the chest by accident.  Oh, Lance thought absently.  That’s a nice chest.

Rather than bat the hand away, Keith said, “Lance is right.  We're in the middle of an action.  We should finish the scene.”  His mouth was set in a firm line, and his brows were drawn together in a display of resoluteness.  It was oddly attractive.

God, Lance was starting to find Keith's stupid eyebrows attractive.  How far he had fallen.

“Hm,” Allura began, a mischievous, faux-thoughtful lilt to her voice.  “I thought you two weren't enjoying this?”  Her expression was innocent enough, aside from the hint of a smile that she tried to hide by busying herself with gathering her belongings.  “Did something change?”

Lance squawked and turned to the others for help, but the traitors seemed preoccupied with grabbing their things and getting out.  “This is—it's not—”  He folded his arms across his chest and glared as Hunk, Pidge, and Allura, gave casual little waves and strolled through the door as if Lance was not currently having a crisis.  Hel-lo.

He was so caught up in his indignation that he failed to analyze Keith's silence as they all packed up and prepared to leave.  It wasn't until Lance was halfway out the door that he paused and turned around, only to find that Keith had followed him, that easily-identifiable Keith-brand of concentration plain on his face.  Still reeling from his embarrassment, Lance was seized by the conflicting impulses of wanting to crawl into a hole and die, and wanting to keep staring until his eyes fell out of their sockets, because—

Because Keith was blushing.  Wow.  What a sight.  It was darker around his neck, fainter around his jaw, and bright as a cherry on the smooth skin just below his cheekbones, where it mottled like sunlight on an ocean floor.

“Hey,” he said.

“… Hey,” Lance replied.

“Do you want to grab dinner with me?”  He looked like he was sucking on a particularly sour lemon.  It would have been funny if it wasn't mildly alarming.  “I was thinking we could talk some things over.”  His head was held high, but his hands were shoved in his pockets awkwardly, like he couldn't decide what to do with them.  “For—you know, for our characters.”

Lance felt his throat tie itself into a knot, twisting around at the base of his neck.  He regarded Keith for a moment, trying to read this odd behavior while simultaneously trying to convince himself this is not a date, McClain; you guys hang out all the time.  Get your head out of Elmora-by-the-Falls.  He thought he did a pretty credible job of ignoring the fluttering of his heart and keeping his expression neutral as he said, “Yeah, man.  Sure.”  He lifted his shoulders in a huge shrug.  Oo, no. Overkill.  His shoulders sank back down.  Casual.  Chill.

“Cool,” Keith breathed with a smile, like he could just do that, like it was simple.

And maybe it was.

“Yeah,” Lance replied, turning toward the exit and burying his own smile in the collar of his jacket. “Cool.”

———

“Hey, Coran?”

“Why, yes, Shiro?  How can I help?”

“Didn't you say you came up with all of these plots in your head?  Did you just … invent the whole sacred marriage tradition on the spot?”