Archive of Our Own ^beta

Floating, trapped in a man eating acid-swamp, with one arm separating Keith from the worst possible person he could be trapped he wondered. Why was it always the two of them who ended up in situations? Where was everyone else’s situation?

It was Pidge’s fault they’d been on the rinky-dink wooden ship anyways! They were definitely cheating at rock paper scissors. Pain lanced up his calf, sharp and jolting. Keith clenched his jaw and ignored it. There were worse sensations to focus on. For example, his skin was going to melt off pre-acid bath.

It was hot, trapped in the floatation pod. Palas Stagnum, the planet they were liberating from the Galra, was two percent planet worth saving and ninety eight percent evil acid swamp infested with carnivorous plant life. The plant life had attacked their boat, bringing the leaky wooden thing down in a nauseating squeech-snap! that would haunt Keith for presumably, the rest of his life. Luckily, the Lami— the crocodile-adjacent humanoid aliens of Palas Stagnum— had installed one closet on every boat that was meant to sustain life inside the acid swamp for at least 24 hours. Well, Allura had said a quintant, which Keith was pretty sure meant 24 hours.

Twenty-four hours where Keith would be trapped, spinning slightly and roasting alive like a gas station hotdog, with hopefully ten inches between him and Lance McClain. Of course. At least Keith was pretty sure they would be rescued before he had to worry about his other problem. It was probably a shallow wound, anyways. No light or room to inspect it in the pod— unless he asked Lance too. He wasn’t that desperate yet, though. His side wasn’t even bleeding that much.

Lance shifted again, drowning the blue safety light in the pod for the split second it took him to kick Keith’s calf again. He cleared his throat this time, pushing his shoulders as far back into the wall as they could be and still be hunched up to his ears. His arms were crossed, giving him no way to catch himself if they rotated too far, idiot, and every time he adjusted his feet he hit Keith.

Focus on your internal monologue, Keith thought.

They probably only had twelve hours, since their oxygen was halved. Well, the suits had oxygen, but the suits weren’t acid-proof— was the pod only acid proof for 24 hours? Fuck, was this thing going to just like, dissolve in a few minutes, just because Keith still wasn’t sure what the fuck a quintant was?

Split second of darkness. Lance huffing their oxygen in like it is unlimited. Dull thud. That’s definitely going to bruise if he keeps it up.

“Lance,” Keith bit out, without meaning too, “You are kicking me every time you do that. Stop squirming.”

Lance gasped in offense, his voice pitched high and whiny, “I am not kicking you! You just put your legs on my side of the pod!”

Keith took a deep breath through his nose, wasting about one full minute of their oxygen supply.  He kept his eyes, dutifully, off Lance’s face. He didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to have one of his Lance Freakouts this up-close and personal with the subject of the freakouts. This left his gaze settling on the metal wall between Lance’s head and shoulder, unobstructed by his helmet because Lance, stupidly, had left his helmet somewhere in the snapped wreckage of their ship.

Keith was going to be so normal and mature in this stupid pod. He was going to be so rational and team motivated. He wasn’t going to kill Lance or freak out about the way the wound he was hiding from him pulsed dully. Shiro would be so proud.

“For the last time,” Keith said, measured, “There are not sides of the pod. There is one pod that we are both stuck in together.”

Lance squeezed his eyes closed tight, swallowing. Don’t look at his face, idiot, too dangerous. Keith needed to stay clear and levelheaded here, for bragging rights, but also because Lance was so un-Lance in the sick blue light. He was flustered and afraid, his eyes darting everywhere and closing every time he thought Keith wouldn’t notice. He was clearly seasick, or maybe claustrophobic? Either way, if Lance was already panicking, then one of them needed to be normal until the others showed up.

Which was hopefully soon. Communications were jammed because of the thick, unending acid surrounding their pod.

A full minute passed without Lance kicking him again. Instead, he uncrossed his arms, trying to shuffle his legs further against the wall by leaning one arm towards Keith. Keith hissed to hide his wince, the movement jostling his shoulder. Oh fuck, he never realized how attached his body and his limbs were, but the urge to throw up from pain consumes him when the shoulder jostling wracks the hole in his chest. Of fuck, this definite flesh wound that wasn’t that bad was making him see spots.

“Stop,” Keith hissed, “Fucking moving. Do you need a distraction?”

Lance yelped, “What do you mean by that!? I don’t need to be distracted, I am super focused on getting us out of here! You’re not better than m—”
  “I would like a truce,” Keith bit out, “For whatever weird grudge thing we have. Pod truce. Let me distract you so you stop fucking moving.”

Stupidly, he looked up at Lance’s face. Lance tilted his perfect fucking head, his hair swooping beautifully. His eyes sparkled with whatever special vitriol he saved for Keith, darting away from him again. High cheekbones were unnaturally dark, and the weird, panicked-animal noise that squeaked free from his throat was oddly cute. Oh fuck, Keith, no Lance Freakouts!

“I, uhm, I don’t want whatever your dumb truce is,” He didn’t sound sure.

Keith knew this game. This was Lance’s “of course I want to be friends I just don’t want to say that” thing. Fine. Keith could do the truce thing for them both. Whatever kept Lance from noticing the way the wound Keith was keeping him arm pressed snugly against, hunching over to hide, was starting to leak crimson on to the whiter parts of the suit.

“What did I even do to you?” Keith tried to sound normal, but his head was starting to feel fuzzy. Fuck. The suits were supposed to be plant-octopus-monster proof. Fuck, Keith was starting to believe that this was not a flesh wound, “I feel like I have redeemed myself by now.”

“That!” Lance sputtered, but he was noticeably more still, “Is a very personal question!  I am not answering that!”

Keith started to run scenarios for what to do if this was a serious issue, the pain in his side. First, keep Lance calm. Keep him focused on Keith’s words, not the blood. “C’mon, Lance,” He didn’t sound desperate, but he was starting to feel it clawing at him, “I’ll work for it. Give me the truce.”

Second, figure out some way to get Lance into his helmet. If Keith was going to bleed out, he didn’t need the suit. He should ration his oxygen and ensure that one of them make it back to their friends. Besides, they would get rescued soon, anyways. He could hold out long enough that the helmet thing was just a precaution. Shiro would be so proud.

“Fine,” Lance’s voice was tight, pinched like he was on the edge of a panic attack. Jeez, was his claustrophobia this bad in the lions? “But it’ll cost you, red. I’m going to think of something good.”

Stop using so much of his oxygen, Keith reminded his fluttering heart, trying to reign in his reaction to the nickname. He swallowed his response of anything to keep you talking. The most casual response he could come up with was, “What’ll it be?”

Keith fought back a full body shiver. It was getting so cold in the pod, so quickly. Maybe they should huddle for warmth? Lance was probably warm. He had his own personal sun that followed him around space.

“You’ve got to tell me something embarrassing about yourself,” Lance snapped his fingers when he said it,, “Not embarrassing for normal people, like your dumb mullet or getting kicked out of the Garrison. What makes you want to hide away forever?”

I would hide in this pod forever if you stayed with me, Keith thought, drowsily. It was getting hard to keep his eyes open, but it was odd. He wasn’t tired before? That’s embarrassing, isn’t it? I wish I could make you forget whatever it is that I did to you. I wish I could apologize.

I used to dream about the beach, Lance. I’ve never seen the ocean, but as a kid I dreamed about the beach. Was that you?

Well, he couldn’t say that.

Keith was grasping at memories, trying to find something he could offer. Most of them flowed through his freezing, clumsy fingers, but he held on to a few. Shiro. Shiro was going to be so mad if Keith died before they rescued him. He would be proud of him for saving so much oxygen for Lance though. It was so responsible and socially-adept of him. Fuck, what was the last thing he said to Shiro? It better have been good.

“I tried to fist-fight Shiro’s fiancé,” Keith found the memory somewhere, fighting the spots in his vision. Were they spinning again?

Lance gasped, moving his arms behind Keith, crowding a little bit closer to him in his excitement. They definitely spun again, then. Keith was going to black out. “You tried to fight a woman?”

What? What did Keith say wrong? Why did Lance hear that? His mouth was moving slower than his head, his own voice sounding far away. “I tried to fight Adam,” He clarified, shaking the spots out of his vision, “Shiro’s fiancé.”

Long, slender fingers covered Lance’s face, casting funny shadows in the blue light. The sight of his gloves against his bare skin tickled something in the back of Keith’s mind. Something about Lance; something about his face. “Wow,” Lance’s voice came out high and squeaky, and Keith remembered! He had a thing for Lance’s face, duh, but that wasn’t important. He was obviously about to have another Lance Freakout. “Let’s just, uhm, brush straight past that. You tried to fistfight Shiro’s man? Why? You weren’t like, jealous, or anything, right?”

Keith squeezed two fingers close together, looking up at Lance from between them. Wait, weren’t his hands busy, before? One was still holding his wound (he wiggled his fingers to check, grunting lowly in pain), and the other was holding him upright. But it wasn’t, now, he was looking at it, words tumbling past his lips, “A little bit. Adam was gonna take Shiro away,” His words bled into each other, “That’s what I thought. And he couldn’t have Shiro if he couldn’t beat me.”

Lance laughed, lighting up the whole pod. He tucked away a stray bit of his hair, but nothing was out of place at all. Wow, this Lance Freakout was making Keith dumber than usual. He had all the classic symptoms— stuttering, not minding his mouth, being tingly all over, black spots in his vision, pressing his good shoulder against Lance’s to support himself— wait, actually. Those are not the usual Lance Freakout symptoms. Oh, fuck, I’m losing a lot of blood.

“Aww,” Lance was playing with that piece of hair now, twirling it. He was so beautiful, “You were defending his honor! That’s so cute, baby Keith.”

He thinks I’m cute.

My arm is going numb. I can’t keep up the pressure.

I had a plan. Step one, keep Lance talking.

“You tell me something, too,” Keith sounded drunk.

Lance clicked his tongue, “Those were not the terms you agreed too.”

“M exposed, blue,” Keith couldn’t remember the second step. He dropped his head onto something, a low click against his helmet, “Tell me something, too.”

Lance darkened, tilting his head down to look at Keith. His eyes darted away somewhere safe as soon as they landed on Keith’s face, but that split second of eye contact was enough for Keith to remember. His helmet. He had to—his good arm was trapped between his body and Lance’s. He’d have to let go of the wound. But it was worth it, right? He was going to lose consciousness soon either way.

Lance’s gaze stayed trained on the small corner of the pod where neither of them were, his voice thick, “I embarrass myself in front of you all the time.”

“Not true,” Keith fought to keep his eyes open, drinking in Lance’s cheekbones, the curve of his nose. He counted down in his head, preparing for the weakness that would undoubtedly overcome him when the blood rushed. “You’re never embarrassing.”

Lance still didn’t really look at him, but he leaned closer. He would notice soon if Keith didn’t do something. “Did you hit your head earlier, man? You weren’t there when I got us kicked off RemX114 for accidentally sneezing into a very small, napkin shaped high priestess? That, was embarrassing, oh my god.”

Five… four… I can do this. Gotta protect Lance. Bloods already gone, doesn’t matter what happens to me.

The spots doubled as soon as his arm came up to grip the edge of his helmet. He started talking to hide the grunt of pain he couldn’t stop, “You’re endearing. Not… not embarrassing.”

Tugging the helmet off buckled his knees, but Lance was supporting his weight, anyways. Those deep blue eyes finally catch Keith’s again. Lance’s tongue darted out across his lips and Keith tracked the movement with an envy heavier than his fear of death. He wanted to kiss Lance. In some other world, this would be the perfect place to kiss Lance.

“Red, what are you…” Lance’s voice was heavy, subdued. Keith could barely hear him, anyways. But then, when he forced himself to bring the helmet up, over Lance’s head, something changed. “Keith, oh my god, are you bleeding?! What is going on?”

“It’s.. nothing,” Keith panted, trying his best not to, “Flesh wound.” Lance’s suit hissed, sealing safely with Keith’s helmet. All the fight left him. Keith saved Lance, and now he earned himself a killer nap. His eyes drooped.

“Keith!” Lance’s hands flew over Keith’s body, discovering the hole in his suit quickly. Keith groaned. Fuck, that hurt, he tried to push him away, but his arms weren’t listening to him, “C’mon red, eyes open. Oh fuck, there’s so much blood, why didn’t you say anything!? Keith, stay awake! You can’t die!”

Lance was afraid.

Keith couldn’t let Lance be afraid.

Had to… had to keep Lance smart. Calm.

“Keep me calm,” Lance’s voice broke like he was crying, “You’re leaking your guts, Keith, oh fuck! Do not close your eyes, Keith, do you hear me? Stay awake!”

Lance looked so pretty in blue. Where were they, again? The blue light was okay; blue was Keith’s favorite color on Lance. But the best, the best was when Lance was out in the sun. He dazzled in the sun. That’s where Keith wanted to be. Warm, in the sun with Lance.

“Then stay!” Lance cried, “Stay here with me! Open your eyes!”

No, that. That wasn’t one of the steps. Keith wanted to, but he used all the blood. A laugh bubbled up, through the hole in his gut, quiet in his own ears. Fuck, he was going to die here, surrounded by blue.

Stay awake, he dreamed.

Don’t waste all his air, he panted.

Keep Lance alive, Keith’s pulse was a distant, faint beast.

Maybe, if the pod melted in the acid, Lance would be able to comm the others. Oh, the others. Keith was going to return Pidge’s game later. Hunk was making his favorite for dinner, he promised, since last night was Shiro’s pick. Fuck, Keith didn’t want to die.

Had to save Lance.

I saved him, Shiro. Are you proud of me?

Him, too. He gave me a truce. Be proud of Lance, too.

Keith was afraid. But he was used to being scared, he was used to fighting through it. But this fear, this grief, it was everywhere. There was nothing else. Just icy blue. no, no, not yet.

Did I do it? Did I save him?

I could be so normal about him if I survived this.

Will you miss me?

I’m sorry. Sorry. Did I save him?

Death didn’t give him any answers. The blue was all he knew, floating somewhere cold and alone.

At least in a human hospital, the beeping would clue Keith in.

In the Altean healing pod, Keith wasn’t sure this was the land of the living when he opened his eyes. Impossibly white lights blinded him, and the hiss of the pod was the first sound he’d heard since Lance’s voice. When the glass slide away, he didn’t even have a chance to try and support himself before someone was scooping him out. How did Shiro still smell like the same bodywash he wore when Keith was fourteen? They were trapped in space for presumably at least a handful of years by now.

“You’re crushing me,” he croaked, his newly-repaired ribs taking the brunt of Shiro’s anxiety.

“Then I’ll put you back in there,” He said, but he let up a little, “Maybe another five days will make you less breakable.”

“Coran said my suit was plant proof,” Keith grumbled, but he brought numb arms up to circle Shiro, too. Shiro was like one of those old finger traps. If he struggled here, he would never be able to wiggle free.

Besides, five days was a long time for what was probably a little more than a flesh wound, in hindsight. If this was a human hospital, Keith would probably be bagged and buried by now—the rise and fall of Shiro’s chest was a welcome comfort. His annoying, over-bearing, big brother squeezed him one more time on his next inhale, like he was assuring himself that Keith was real. Guilt trickled down the back of Keith’s throat, but he swallowed it back. They were at war. Shit happened. They all made it home; and Keith protected Lance in the pod. That’s what mattered.

“You just had to test that out for us, huh,” Shiro forcibly evened out his breathing, pulling himself back. “We should’ve gotten to you guys faster. The Galra were already there, and we thought you’d be safe for a whole quintant.”

Freed to test his limbs out and survey his surroundings, Keith wasn’t surprised to find evidence of a small campsite around his healing pod. The Dhak-made neon green blanket that Pidge was gifted a few months ago was still cocoon-shaped at the base of the pod, but missing it’s paladin. A stack of dirty cups and a messy ring where plates had likely been recently was slightly to the right of a small light-bulb shaped object; one that Keith, belatedly, realized was the light from the pod. A screwdriver that Hunk had adorned in yellow electric tape to mark as his was still sticking up out of the side of it, preventing it from rolling away.

“I didn’t die, so don’t apologize,” Keith dismissed his guilt immediately, scanning the other side.

Silver clips and pins were piled near an Altean-made shawl, likely dropped when Allura had to rush off and do something universe-related. Even Keith’s own blade was stuck in the center of the little pile, being used as a bookmark in an Altean book with a picture on a detective on the cover.

Keith swallowed, his throat dry and sore. They always gathered outside the pods like this, staying as long as anyone could, returning whenever they could bare it. But, missing, was the collection of odd-textured shells that Lance insisted were dice. Missing, were the cards with random human phrases on them, mistranslated in several alien languages, that he picked up in a joke shop. Missing was the ocean lamp that Lance only shared after a particularly nasty blow to the team.

Shiro hadn’t answered him. Keith snapped his eyes up to their leader, worried about what he’d find inside the guilt he’d dismissed. If he’d hidden a wound that decommissioned him for five days, then Lance could’ve—

“When we got there, it was,” Shiro ran his metal arm through his hair, “Lance really, he wasn’t…”

“He came home,” Keith didn’t mean to ask, but terror gripped him so thoroughly when Shiro flinched that the statement turned itself into a question, “Right?”

“He’s home,” Shiro swallowed, “He’s just not… We should’ve got there sooner. He freaked out, when we had to put you in the pod, when we had to pull him off you.”

If he freaked out, that means he’s alive. He survived.

But hearing Shiro say it didn’t undo the knot of fear unravelling in his gut, didn’t smooth the itch under Keith’s skin that needed to see him.

“Where is he?”

Shiro visibly weighed the question, answering it slowly, “He couldn’t be in here—every time he saw you in pod, he just lost it. I mean, Keith, he—he actually attacked Pidge when they reached for you.”

Keith’s ankles popped when he shifted his weight, trying to see the door behind Shiro, “Is he in his room? Can I see him?”

“Keith, you aren’t listening to me,” Shiro set a heavy hand on his shoulder, and Keith snapped his eyes back up to his face, “You died in his arms. He was trapped in that pod with your corpse for multiple hours. He won’t eat or talk to anyone. I just, I think you should go see him, I think seeing you awake will help him, but you should be prepared for a different version for Lance than you’re used to—”

As soon as Shiro said you should go see him, Keith had ducked around him, headed down the hall. A pull from his chest guided him down a familiar route to their rooms, a need. It was a normal mission gone wrong. There were tons of times him and Lance were closer to death, times that were more eventful and worse off. They were always in a situation.

Shiro sighed from somewhere behind him, headed the opposite way, likely to make the announcement that Keith was awake. The pull tugged him past the bridge, where he could hear Allura and Pidge arguing with some hologram. It rushed him down a hall that smelled like if lasagna was allergic to tomatoes and required oranges instead, a classic sign that Hunk was stress cooking something.

Maybe the urgency was because of how slowly it had happened. Keith had been aware for most of it, had had time to process that he was about to die for Lance. Usually, the adrenaline didn’t wear off between that choice and the inside of the pod. Usually, Keith was out cold before he heard the screaming.

Keith just needed to verify that Lance was alive. Then he could be normal, greet everyone and laugh it off. He just needed to see Lance in the castle’s lights, not awash in that dull blue color that he’d floated in for five days between life and death. He just… just needed to see him. Then he could stop counting his breaths, saving oxygen for Lance to use.

That’s what Keith was telling himself when he sidestepped the offerings outside Lance’s door; a neatly folded pink blanket with his favorite Altean show tucked inside, a cold plate of goo resting by Pidge’s new handheld console, and a poorly welded scrap-metal piano man with a wind-up back. Clearly, they’d been trying to coax him out for a while. He rapped his knuckles against the door, the dull metal thunk echoing down the hallway.

A minute ticked by. The door stayed firmly shut.

Maybe he should walk away. Give Lance some more time. But the band of conservation constricted over his lungs again, reminding him to save air for Lance, just in case.

“Uh, Lance? Keith’s voice cracked around the words, “Can we talk?”

One second, the door was hissing open, and the next second Keith’s back was pressed firmly against the inside of it. The black darkness of the room shrunk the space down to what he could feel. A body, warm and familiar from the months trapped in situations together, was pressed tight against him. They were closer than they’d been in the pod, if that was possible. Slender, nimble fingers crept up his sides, sealing themselves between his ribs and hips—separated from the new scar on his left side by the thin shirt he was wearing in the pod.

A gasp wrenched itself from his throat. Keith’s whole body lit up like fire wherever they touched, his nerves sensitive from underuse. Too much, too much.

“Lance,” He tried to make it a question, but it came out rushed and desperate: a plea.

Fuck. Not even an hour out of the pod and he was going to have a Lance Freakout. Still, the pull in his gut preceded. Lance was here, alive, pinning Keith tight against the door. His eyes were adjusting quickly, the low light shadowing the column of Lance’s throat, the curve of his shoulder. He was too close for Keith to see much else, but hot breath fell near his ear.

“How did I not notice?” Lance muttered, not sounding totally aware, “There was so much blood. It was hot, sticky, there was so much. Weren’t we touching? How did I not feel it? How could I miss it?”

The brokenness in his voice tore at Keith, piercing his skin the way that plant sliced through his armor. Lance sounded so afraid, so small.

Keith should’ve pushed him away.

He should’ve turned the light on and broken Lance free of this trance.

Instead, he curled his fingers into the hair at the base of Lance’s skull, breathing in the scent of him. He needed a shower, probably, but the sweet scent of the ice cream he kept hidden in the freezer for hard days clung to him. Alive, warm, real.

“Lance,” He begged, pulling him closer. “Oh god, Lance.”

Keith didn’t die, but he could’ve. He could any day. He was always in some sort of situation; they both were. What if it had been Lance? What if next time it was Lance’s corpse in his arms, Lance’s helmet on his head? What was this dumb game they were playing, pretending not to be friends? Keith wanted. That pull in his chest amplified, pulsed. He wanted to melt into Lance’s skin and never be separated. He wanted to eat together in silence and be comfortable. He wanted to have kissed him when he was dying and there weren’t any consequences.

He could take this much, right now. He could hold Lance while he shook, while he tried to process it. “I keep putting myself back there. Trying to force myself to notice. I was so busy trying to keep you away from me so you wouldn’t notice how embarrassingly hard I was, how stupidly red in the face—I couldn’t even look at you, I was so scared you could tell— there was so much blood—”

Keith tried to pay attention to what Lance was saying, but he was drinking in the pulse against his ear. He was aware enough to know that Lance was still trapped in that floating blue nightmare. Keith wanted him awake.

“Lance,” His voice was calmer, more even, the desperation at bay for the moment, “Breathe.”

Lance slumped, letting Keith hold them both upright. Keith let himself indulge in the feeling of Lance’s toned back under his palms. He held Lance as close as he could, letting Lance feel how alive they both were.

A shuttering breath led to a strained whisper, “You bled out in my arms. I was playing some dumb game, and you—oh, god. I am such a fucking kid.”

He dug his fingers into the notch between Lance’s shoulder blades, just to feel him shudder. The sudden and overcoming urge to bite the juncture between his neck and shoulder overtook Keith, and he closed his eyes to dull it. “I’m the one who hid my life-threatening injury from you,” he said, “Which was super mature and adult of me.”

Lance didn’t laugh. “You died,” his voice was a shell of what it should be, “you died in my arms.”

“Bonding moment?” Keith tried, unsurprised when Lance’s grip on him shifted from reverent to painful in retaliation, “Ow, ow, ow, careful! That’s new skin, it hurts!”

“Bonding moment,” That, that teasing, light tone. That was what Lance was meant to sound like. It was fragile, but closer. “You spilled your fucking guts all over me and that’s all you have to say for yourself.”

Keith hummed, keeping his eyes closed tight, “Sorry.” His Lance Freakout need to be over soon. Soon they would need to put the distance back between their bodies, soon they would have to pretend again. It would be okay, but only if he didn’t look yet.

Lance huffed at Keith’s apology, and Keith chuckled softly. Silence floated up around them, preserving the moment. Safe. Alive. Together.

Keith wanted to be friends, at least. He could strongarm Lance into it, maybe. Drag him around until Lance admitted they were interested in all the same things and enjoyed each other’s company. Maybe, eventually, Keith could coax him into more, convince him to move in together. Their color palettes matched, anyways…

“I should’ve noticed,” Lance’s voice startled Keith back into the present, “I should’ve saved you.”

“You did save me, blue,” He reached between them, dragging Lances hand past his new scar and up towards his heart, pressing his palm against it. “Feel that? I’m alive.”

“You’re alive,” Lance repeated. Keith opened his eyes when a calloused palm cupped his face, tilting his head up. He found Lance’s blue eyes already staring at him, “Alive. Awake.”

For a while, they stayed there, watching each other breathe. Keith watched the shadows play across Lance’s cheekbones, moving slightly with each exhale and blink. Lance could have the whole vanity space, Keith didn’t need much. He’d clear out all the shelves in his shower, too. Lance was probably a lots of pillows person, which Keith could adjust too, eventually. He had time.

“You’ve got a new embarrassing story, too,” Lance interrupted Keith’s plans on what to name their future two kids and pet hamster, a small, impudent smile on his face, “You almost died and your last words were calling me a deer.”

Keith’s face felt hot. Could Lance feel it against his palm? “I called you endearing. I think, it’s kind of blurry now.”

“Endearing?” Lance huffed, his eyes alight.

“You said you were embarrassing,” Keith’s eyes darted away from Lance’s face, but he couldn’t resist staring for long, “You aren’t, you’re endearing. Usually. Mostly.”

Lance’s cheeks darkened, and a whine escaped him. He hid his face against Keith’s shoulder, his arms encircling Keith’s waist and squeezing lightly. The gesture was welcome, comfortable; it also had Keith’s heart jumping out of his throat. With a new, striking clarity, Keith could feel every part of himself that was touching Lance.

Oh, fuck, this was not like, a platonic hug they were having. Jeez, Keith had been sniffing him, oh god. The addictive drag of his Lance Freakout was fading, the pull of panic in his stomach eased out a while ago too. Keith was startlingly sober- and the moment that Lance would soon have the same clear vision, he would realize how absolutely down bad Keith was.

Lance must’ve felt him stiffen, because he sighed against Keith’s skin.

“Back to reality?” He said, “Can I have five more minutes before you realize what I said and hate me forever?”

What he said? Not the hug, or the sniffing, or the endearing comment? What did Lance say? Keith tried to replay everything in his head. He settled on the  anxious rambling he’d tuned out before, trying and willing himself to hear it this time.

I was scared you could feel how hard I was. I was scared you could tell.

Keith let out an undiginifed, confused, panciked sound. He could feel every inch of Lance’s laugh, all the insecurity wrapped in it. Lance pulled back, seeming mostly stable on his own feet. “I reminded you, didn’t I? Okay. It’s fine, we can just, we’ll ignore it and move on, okay? Besides, now that you know about my giant crush on you, maybe I’ll be less awkward about it? We’ll be regular-degular space buds, pals, friands—”

“Crush?” There was no air left in Keith’s lungs, the word sounded punched out of him, “Friends?”

Lance flinched, “Cmon, Keith. No need to make it a big deal. You lived, I’m in love with you, we can work this out, right?”

“You’re- in… with? No, Lance, no, you don’t—you can’t be?”
He leaned further back, his face becoming obscured by the darkness of the room. But keith didn’t want him far, he wanted to touch, to see, to feel. Keith, panicked, blinding slapped a hand across the lights. Lance jolted back away from them, covering his eyes and blubbering about a warning—but his face, his skin was stained beautifully red.

Blushing. Just like, in the hazy blue, he’d looked darker in the cheeks than usual… was Lance, was Lance freaking out too?

“I know how I feel, man. We don’t have to talk about it more if it makes you uncomfortable,” He was backing up more, no no no, “But don’t try to deny it, please. I’ve denied it enough, it’s embarrassing, but I’m like, so down for you that it’s unsafe to the Voltron mission. I mean, you literally almost died because of my lack of critical thinking skills around you—”

Lance thought… that Keith was rejecting him? Why, if Lance felt it to, why was he running away? Keith wanted—

“You’re being weird.” Lance scratched the back of his head, his shoulders slumped, “Don’t make it weird, please—”

Keith didn’t think. One second, his hand was wrapped around Lance’s wrist, tugging him. The next, they were colliding against each other, and Keith was finally, finally kissing him.

Lance hummed, low in his throat, He pressed himself flush to Keith, drinking him in. Keith melted through the floor, his whole life puddy in Lance’s hands. But then, abruptly, Lance was separating their lips, staying close, fingers bunched in Keith’s hair.

“If this is like, a pity thing,” He said, panting lightly. Keith wanted to bite his lips, “You shouldn’t do that. I’m obsessed with you, red. Don’t—not if you don’t mean it, I can’t handle it.”

Keith tried to chase his lips, to show him how bad he wanted this too, but Lance’s grip in his hair tightened when he tried. The low, keening whine Keith let out made Lance’s pupils blow wide. “Keith,” He warned, breathless.

“Obsessed,” Keith agreed, nonsensically, “I’m obsessed, too. I was bleeding out in the pod and all I could think about was trying to save you oxygen in the suit. I, I mean, I even when I was healing, the whole time all I could think about was how bad I wanted to save you before I died. How bad I wanted to live so I could be with you again. Lance, I kept thinking how beautiful you were—”

Lance cursed under his breath, and then Keith was against the door again, hot lips against his own. Dehydrated, starved, and a little numb, Keith had never felt more right. Lance’s chapped and bitten lips were the salve for years of isolation and months of quiet infatuation. Lance’s guiding fingers in his hair drowned out everything, outside of the sweet taste of the ice cream Keith smelled earlier. Sweet, like vanilla and long nights. It was messy but they fit against each other perfectly, Lance giving just as much as Keith could take. They were perfectly synced, the way they were on the battlefield and in training. Keith’s hands wandered, pulling Lance as close to him as he could get. His body was hot, and the fizzle of need burning through him came back in full force.

“Just,” Lance panted against Keith’s kiss-swollen lips, only centimeters away, “Clarifying. You like-like me, right? That was a confession?”

“Fuck yes,” He nodded like a drunk man, wanting more than anything to keep kissing Lance.

Lance hummed, pressing their foreheads together, “And we can like, try dating? This isn’t a one time thing you’ll forget about later.”

“I should be asking you that,” Keith mused, rubbing his fingers in circles where they rested under Lance’s shirt, along the jut of his hipbones, “Bonding moment.”

Lance’s laugh was paper-thin and giddy, carrying Keith’s soul up and through the stars. With the lights one, Keith could see exactly how flushed Lance was, could see the mess of his hair, the dilation of his pupils. Keith did that. He wanted to eat him whole.

“Okay,” Lance said, smiling wide, “Good. I’m going to uhm, let go of you then. You’re going to go spend some time with everybody else, and I’ll shower, and then, we’ll all snuggle and watch a movie. Okay?”

Keith dug his fingers in like he could latch himself to Lance. He buried his head against Lance’s chest, refusing to move. Lance laughed again, nuzzling his face against Keith’s head, “God, I can’t believe—I don’t want to let you go, man, but if we’re together now—”

“We are,” Keith insisted, “You’re not getting out of that.”

“Okay, well, then, especially,” Lance’s smile was audible, “I want to do this right. Take it slow. I need a bit so I can be normal about this.”

Keith hummed, much more concerned with the heated joy curling between them and the way he could feel Lance’s chest expand with every breath. He wanted to crawl inside his skin and live there.

“I can be normal for both of us,” Keith decided, sealing their lips back together.

Lance’s laugh was quickly becoming the his favorite noise of all time, and maybe Keith could find some way to bottle it up and listen to it again and again forever? “I don’t think so, red,” Lance pressed a kiss to his temple, “Fuck, is this healthy?”

Who cares? Keith thought.

“Seems perfectly healthy to me,” he said instead, finally loosing his grip when Lance began to untangle them from each other.

 A long goodbye kiss and multiple chiding remarks later, Keith found himself trying Hunk’s terrible stress-dish (It tasted fine, but it made Keith’s tongue tingly). Pidge was soundless at the end of the bar, but they had warmed up to half-jokes and snobby remarks by the time Coran called it officially dinner time. Shiro banned Keith from the training room for another whole quintant, but he deemed him alive and well as it was. Allura casually filled Keith in on the rest of the proceedings in Palas Stagnum around mouthfuls of Lasagna-Adjacent-Dinner. And when Lance finally sidled in, taking the chair beside Keith like that was his usual seat, slinging an arm behind him, everyone seemed to let go of some deep breath at once. They were whole.

Life in the Palace of Lions kept going. The only blue to be seen was Lance’s perfect eyes, tracking Keith around the room with a light that Keith would never see go out of them again, if he could ensure that. There would be another situation to handle tomorrow, or the next day, and maybe the one after that too. But there was always a movie night, after—there was always a careful inspection of everyone’s suits, always an urgency to the rescue plans. And if there was ever need for another campsite to form around Keith, or Lance, they fought with everything they could to make it out of the medbay alive. There was so much to live for, these days.