Chapter Text
Five months later.
. . .
They usually go about this sort of thing with a bit more tact. A bit more finesse, even.
“Lance —”
“Mmf.”
And other times it’s like this. Tucked away in some nondescript storage closet, surrounded by cleaning supplies and the aggressive stench of bleach that, surprisingly, doesn’t seem to ruin the mood too much. And Lance’s back is pushed up against one of the shelving units, and a long, limber leg is hooked around Keith’s waist, and his lips are nibbling at that one spot where Keith’s neck meets his collarbone, and it’s driving Keith insane, with his breath stuttering in Lance’s ear, and his hand dipping into the waistband of Lance’s neatly tailored dress pants, and well —
Sometimes these things just happen.
Lance tugs on the end of Keith’s tie where it already hangs loose and crooked around his neck, and practically mewls. Keith’s insides promptly burst into flames.
“Always figured you have a thing for suits,” he manages to rasp around the breathy sound of a chuckle.
“Correction — I have a thing for the guy in the suit,” Lance mumbles against skin, lips warm and ghosting up, up, up to Keith’s jaw. “The fact that you’re all wrapped up in two hundred dollars’ worth of designer fabric like the world’s sexiest Christmas gift is honestly just a bonus.”
Another chuckle, or something intended to be, but it collapses into a moan as soon as Lance’s tongue reaches the corner of Keith’s mouth.
“I don’t know,” whispers Keith. “Seems like you’re pretty eager to unwrap me.”
“I’ve been a really good boy this year, babe.”
There’s almost enough cheekiness in his tone to distract Keith as Lance rolls his hips, rubbing against Keith’s thigh, and the shelf behind them gives a precarious rattle of protest when Keith nearly loses his grip right then and there.
But he’s determined to maintain composure — as much as one can in the midst of an impromptu tryst with a very attractive, and very handsy boyfriend — so he drags a hand through Lance’s hair, fingers curling, and grunts, “Mhm.”
“My sweetness, my honey-bear, the sunshine of my life.“
“Lance.”
Soft laughter fills the tiny space, muffled by kisses, and the pitter-patter of happy heartbeats. Restless hands, and rumpled clothes, and swollen lips, and quiet murmurs, and —
The sound of the door clicking open.
Lance notices it first, and yelps, and Keith nearly drops him as he throws a startled look over his shoulder, blinking into the unwelcome light that now floods their dark hideaway, revealing them like a pair of compromising criminals.
“Real classy, you two,” Pidge says from the doorway, deadpan and, perhaps, a bit unsurprised.
Lance groans, and drops his forehead onto Keith’s shoulder. “Pidge, c’mon.”
“You c’mon! I’ve been looking everywhere for you guys,” she chides. “Need I remind you that this wedding literally can’t start without you.”
“Alright, alright — Calm down, short stuff.”
It’s with a big, exaggerated pout that Lance plants both feet back on the ground, and untangles himself from Keith’s strong limbs. He side-steps into the outpouring of light, unashamed, it seems, with a little self-satisfied smirk on his face, even as his hair sticks up in the back, and he struggles to tuck the bottom of his shirt back into his trousers like he hadn’t been two seconds away from ripping it off completely.
“See?” he holds his arms out, showcasing the sloppy glory of all his hasty adjustments. “Good to go.”
Pidge sighs.
“And you —” Lance swivels back around to aim that smirk at Keith, poking a finger into the center of his boyfriend’s half-unbuttoned shirt rather coyly. “—We are not done here.”
“Ugh!” Pidge cries. “You can be gross after the ceremony, Lance.” And then, under her breath: “Shiro owes me big for this…”
Lance’s fingers delicately clasp one of Keith’s undone buttons, and then he tells him, soft, “I’ll see you out there.”
“You better,” says Keith, even softer.
A peck on the lips is exchanged, followed by a wink from Lance, and then he’s flitting out the door, humming something mindlessly cheerful as he rounds the corner.
Keith just clears his throat, smooths out the lapels of his jacket, and flushes red when he notices Pidge still glaring disdainfully in the doorway.
“Animals,” she declares with a shake of her head. “Both of you.”
By the time Lance makes it outside the banquet hall, and into the garden where there are rows upon rows of seated guests — and waiting guests, Pidge reminds him with a pinch to his flank — he can already hear the quiet drone of instrumental music, and he can already see Shiro’s raised eyebrow staring at him from the altar.
Lance scurries down the aisle, flattening out the back of his stubborn hair, and offers Shiro a sheepish thumbs-up gesture, which is reciprocated with a fond eye roll. Ah, what a lovely day to appreciate his great, understanding, and high-tolerating friends, Lance thinks.
As he sidles up next to Hunk, falling into line with the rest of the groomsmen, Lance can feel his friend giving him a sidelong glance, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but failing when he has to bite back a knowing grin.
“You, uh — had a good time there, buddy?” whispers Hunk.
“Jeez, does gossip seriously travel that fast around here?” Lance whispers back, and then flashes a glimpse of his teeth. “Or am I just that popular?”
“Actually it’s ‘cause I noticed that your fly’s still down.”
A quick peek downward, and — yep. That’s embarrassing.
He scrabbles for the zipper, yanks it up, and huffs out a half-embarrassed, half-smug, “Whoops.”
Just then, a shaggy mop of black hair emerges from the back of the garden, and Lance smirks. His shaggy mop. So romantic. Keith slips into one of the empty seats, wiggles the knot of his tie until it’s no longer crooked, and then glances up to meet Lance’s gaze, as if he can feel it trained on him. Lance gives a little wave, and the way Keith’s mouth blooms into a sweet grin is totally worth the admonishing jab from Hunk’s elbow.
And when Adam makes his way down the aisle in a striking white suit that seems to take everyone’s breath away as much as his future husband’s, the entire audience falls silent. The music swells. Shiro and Adam join hands at the altar, with matching smiles that appear too big for their faces. Hunk sniffles, and Lance pats him on the back. And when Lance looks back out into the crowd, Keith’s eyes are still all over him, like they hadn’t strayed even for a second.
“Dearly beloved,” the officiant begins. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of this happy couple…”
A shiver crawls along Lance’s skin, trembling from the soft intensity of Keith’s stare. Dark, endless, and gleaming — a galaxy all their own. And Lance thinks he wouldn’t mind getting lost in their orbit for a little while.
So he does.
Meanwhile, Shiro and Adam recite their vows.
“… to have and to hold…”
Lance smiles.
“… to love and to cherish…”
Keith smiles back.
“… I give you my hand, my heart, and my love, from this day forward for as long as we both shall live…”
I do, Lance says with his eyes.
I do, Keith repeats in his head.
“I now pronounce you lawfully married. You may kiss your groom.”
And the applause that follows is deafening.
“Are you gonna drink the rest of that?”
There’s just a mild edge of hysteria in the way Veronica plops herself down into the chair beside Keith at one of the banquet tables. Almost enough to warrant concern, Keith thinks, but then she’s grabbing his champagne, and chugging down what remains of it before he can even mutter a response.
“Uh,” Keith says as Veronica winces from the stinging aftertaste burning down her throat. “Guess not.”
Around them, the reception is in full-swing. Lively music, platters of decadent appetizers, and not a single centerpiece out of place — not that that’s even a possibility with Veronica at the helm. And yet she still seems intent on frowning, gnawing her bottom lip, and tapping a manicured finger against the tabletop to an erratic rhythm, most likely to match the frantic flurry of her pulse.
“Everything’s going great,” Keith assures, and when she turns to throw her overwrought eyes on him, he clarifies, “With the wedding, I mean. People look like they’re having a good time.”
“Of course they are,” she says offhandedly. “I planned the whole thing.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Problem? There’s no problem.”
Barely even a whole second passes before Veronica is slumping in defeat. The no-nonsense tilt of Keith’s head has that uncanny effect, apparently.
“Okay, fine,” she mutters, and scoots her chair closer until she’s leaning in, elbows on the table, and admits cautiously, “I kinda… met someone. I think.”
Keith’s eyebrows disappear up into his hairline. “Here?”
“We were in line at the bar, and then we just started talking, and… I don’t know, this is so confusing! Maybe I’m just making it all up in my head, but — I definitely felt something —”
“Who is it?” Keith asks.
She allows her gaze to wander, just a slight, covert drift toward the bar, and Keith begins to slowly turn in his seat. On the other side of the room, Adam and Shiro are just beginning to make their social rounds, and appear to be chatting boisterously with a young woman, and a tall, well-built man with dark skin, and a chiseled jawline that Keith can make out even from such a considerable distance.
Amusement rumbles in Keith’s chest as he faces forward, lips curling around a very innocent question of, “What’s his name?”
And Veronica scrunches her nose with a very feeble reply of, “Nadia.”
Keith blinks. Pauses. And then whirls around again, but, this time, his eyes zero in on the young woman. She’s cute and petite, with a thin-rimmed pair of glasses, and a cascade of black hair piled atop her head in some fashionable up-do.
“Oh,” says Keith, bemused.
“I don’t know what I’m doing!”
“Just go talk to her,” Keith suggests simply.
“Really?” Veronica squeaks.
“Sure.”
She fusses with the neckline of her lavender dress, and gathers all of her voluminous hair to drape over her left shoulder, and asks, “Do I look okay?”
Keith sighs. “Veronica. You’re fine. Go.”
“But what if I —”
“Go or I’m texting pictures to Marco.”
Veronica is taking off so abruptly that her chair almost topples over in her wake.
And then Keith watches her move through the throngs of mingling guests, fix her hair one final time, and march resolutely toward the bar until he hears, coming up from behind:
“What are you texting to Marco?”
Lance slides into Veronica’s abandoned chair with a grin, one hand cradling a glass of wine, and the other snaking around Keith’s middle, and he’s glowing beneath the golden light of the hanging lanterns overhead, and he’s looking so unfairly handsome in that blue striped tie, and — god, maybe Keith is the one who has a thing for suits.
“Pictures of your sister trying to flirt,” says Keith, leaning back into the crook of Lance’s arm.
His entire face brightens with intrigue. “Ooh, I love a good train wreck.”
“Eight ‘o clock.”
Lance twists around, resting his chin on Keith’s shoulder, close enough that Keith can smell the shampoo in his hair, the cologne on his skin, the wine on his breath. And he can hear the small hum of approval vibrating off Lance’s lips when he spots, presumably, the strapping adonis standing by the bar.
“Why, hello there, Mr. I-Never-Skip-Arm-Day,” Lance purrs into Keith’s ear.
Then, with a snort: “Actually —”
They’re both still staring as Veronica saunters right past the young man, and makes a nervous beeline for Nadia, who appears to perk up a bit when they lock eyes. Nadia says something, and Veronica laughs — maybe a little too hard — but it’s endearing, nonetheless.
“Oh,” Lance chirps.
Keith nods. “That’s what I said.”
Another hum, a bit more thoughtful and lazy, as Lance turns to bury his nose into the warmth of Keith’s neck; just right there against his pulse. “Well, I hate to miss out on quality entertainment, but I just realized I haven’t had the chance to dance with my Mr. Arm Day yet.”
Keith laughs.
Lance laughs, too.
It’s the best sound in the world, Keith decides.
Hands clasped, Lance leads them onto the dance floor, and Keith kind of feels like he could be floating. Like even if the wooden floorboards were to give out beneath their feet, it wouldn’t even matter because Lance’s hand is firm in his own, keeping him trussed, keeping him steady. And that very hand is what pulls him in, nearly chest to chest, and tugs him into a gentle sway, minding the passionate lilt of the music. It’s so easy, so intrinsic, just like most things are when it comes to Lance. Like how he melts under his touch, or how he loses himself in the depths of his eyes, or how he hasn’t — not even once — felt that inborn urge to run, like maybe he doesn’t want to anymore. Maybe he doesn’t need to anymore. And maybe he’s —
“What?” Lance smiles.
Keith smiles back, returning from his daze. “What?”
“You’re staring at me, weirdo.”
The palm he has splayed on the small of Lance’s back brings him closer. Because close just isn’t close enough. “You look nice tonight,” he tells him earnestly.
“Mm,” Lance considers. “That’s why you can’t keep your hands off me, huh?”
“Says the guy who dragged me into a storage closet.”
“No proof, no case.”
Keith lifts a brow. “There’s plenty of proof under my shirt collar.”
This has Lance’s smile spreading to the far corners of his cheeks, and Keith is struck by the overwhelming impulse to kiss it off his lips.
“And there’s more where that came from, sweetheart,” Lance warns — promises — while framing either side of Keith’s face with his hands.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” says Lance. And then, “But later.”
It makes Keith’s grin soften, all hazily peaked.
“Right now I don’t wanna go anywhere,” and Lance trails his hands back, fingers burrowing into the hair at the nape of Keith’s neck. “I like it right here.”
Here is my favorite place to be. Here is the only place I want to be. The thoughts swarm him like the desert heat, searing and white-hot, and Keith almost allows himself to be singed, but then he’s plunging deep into that blue gaze, cooling him, soothing the burn, and all he can muster is a low, breathless, “Yeah.”
And it makes Lance all but whimper, feeling it clatter around behind his ribcage. “God, you’re gonna kill me,” he whines, but there’s more adoration than accusation as he goes on, “You’re gonna kill me dead. You know that? You’re gonna turn those big, gorgeous eyes on me one morning when I’m all sleepy and vulnerable, and my heart’s just gonna go —”
“I love you.”
Lance’s throat gets stuck around the rest of his words, jaw going just a little bit slack, but Keith doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, if that enduring dear-god-I-am-so-gone-for-this-boy look is anything to go by, one might even assume he finds it cute.
“ —You,” he finally breathes.
“So much, Lance,” whispers Keith, more faint than the music that’s still guiding the idle sway of their bodies.
“I love you, too. I —”
But Keith is still looking at him like that, and it’s doing things — peculiar, flip-flopping things — to Lance’s stomach, and chest, and head, and he’s pretty sure he can feel it creeping into his limbs now, and —
Keith manages to catch a fleeting glimpse of Lance’s flushed pink face before it’s getting pressed into his shoulder, hidden from view, with a pitiful grumble of something that’s definitely not a real language dwindling off his lips.
“Are you okay?” Keith asks, amused.
“Let me die,” is all Lance mumbles into the suit fabric.
More laughter. The quiet, just-for-you kind that Lance is used to hearing against their pillow late at night, or used to feeling against his lips, buzzing pleasantly when Keith kisses him goodbye in the mornings.
Keith tucks a finger under Lance’s chin, lifting his face out of concealment, and bows his head until only the tips of their noses are brushing. Their lips are an inch from collision, and just the slightest tilt upward would bring them together, and Lance is so tempted to give in. He wants to stitch up the distance, and capture his breath, and stay there until the room starts to spin. And the heated anticipation of it hits him in the face like a —
— Well, like something literally hitting him in the face.
It’s gentle, a little bouncy — and strangely prickly — and drops into Keith’s hands when they jump apart. From the direction it was hurled, they find Adam and Shiro standing on two chairs, in front of a crowd of applauding guests. Shiro is laughing heartily, and Adam looks a bit apologetic for his aim.
Because laying daintily in Keith’s hands is a bright blue bouquet of flowers, with a silky silver ribbon tied around the stems.
Lance looks at it.
Keith looks at it.
They look at each other for a moment, and then:
“Nice catch,” Lance grins.
And that’s when Keith finally kisses him. Like he needs to. Like he physically can’t stand not kissing him any longer. Keith pulls him in by the front of his jacket, and Lance goes willingly, like he always does. And somewhere amidst the lovely Keith-induced haze of his mind, he finds himself wondering how long it’ll last — this lightweight giddiness, this persistent flutter that seems to live inside his chest now. He wonders how it’s possible for every moment to feel even more special than the last.
And he wonders how he could’ve ever been so foolish.
Because this? This right here?
Something like this couldn’t ever possibly be fake.
. . .