Work Text:
"Solar flares occur when a buildup of magnetic energy... is suddenly released.”
~ space.com
✽✽✽
Keith isn’t sure how it got to be so long.
Almost two years , he thinks. It’s been almost two years since he’s seen Lance face to face.
Looking back, the missions and feasts and endless Blade meetings all blend together, forming an unbroken strand of time with little to distinguish the seasons. It’s been easy, over the years, to lose track of time, spending long stretches without his friends.
In Keith’s defense, he’s been busy; converting the Blade to a humanitarian organization was a lot harder than it looked. It seemed hopeless, sometimes; that as soon as Keith stabilized one sector, another one would need urgent help. No time to rest. He’s traveled the universe, righted so many wrongs, and painted a new future for the Galra. Many would say he’s built a home for himself out here, but Keith can’t ignore the part of him that longs for home elsewhere.
(It looks like blue eyes and chestnut curls, but Keith keeps that secret held close to his chest.)
He hasn’t been able to return to Earth. And the work’s only continued relentlessly.
Some nights, when Keith would flop down on his cot, exhausted, the only thing that kept him afloat was the cheerful sound of Lance’s voice on the other end of his calls. When he’d witnessed too much death, dug bodies out of the wreckage of ancient civilizations, handed food to people wafer-thin and on the edge of starvation — the nights when he needed sunshine the most and could only see the infinite darkness of space outside his window, Lance was there.
And Lance would smile — a sunbeam in its own right — and know with that uncanny sixth sense of his, and direct the conversation somewhere else, babbling about how he and Colleen Holt managed to resurrect a nearly-extinct alien plant species, how he threw his abuela a giant 90th birthday party, how he redecorated his apartment, how he was appointed as one of the first ever Garrison ambassadors to the universe.
Keith knows Lance has had his own fair share of problems. But somehow Lance always finds the good in life, plucks the silver lining out of every situation and spreads the joy he finds, leaving the world glowing just as brightly as it does in his rose-colored, sun-warmed vision.
He’s… a miracle. Lance went through war and came out the other side as kind and pure hearted as he was at the start. More so, maybe. He’s been scarred and betrayed and beaten bloody — had to fight for his life and even lost it, once — yet he still sees the good in every creature he meets.
And Keith’s been in love with him a long time, okay?
Some nights the distance between them seemed unbearable, and Keith pined in silence, longing.
(Lance deserves a proper confession, one with flowers and chocolate and a conversation face to face. Keith vowed he would never confess until he could give that to Lance.)
He beamed at Lance’s sleep-deprived giggles, ached at his late-night whispered doubts and dramas, lost his breath at each and every beautiful smile Lance sent his way.
The best nights were when Lance fell asleep on the phone, his words dwindling into sleepy half sentences and then trailing into nothingness as his eyes fluttered closed. Lance was gorgeous in sleep, of course, but the best part was that Keith could drop his guard for a minute, tracing every inch of Lance’s face with no fear that devotion was written plainly across his own. He dreamed of holding Lance in his arms, breathing in the ocean scent of him, murmuring affirmations into his hair and watching him wake up on the next pillow over. He dreamed of giving Lance everything he asked for and being able to watch his marks light up in joy.
He wanted to kiss the apples of Lance’s cheeks and the marks there, to make Lance glow with happiness — literally — until his dying day.
He never spoke a word of it.
There have been days when he’s dared to hope, though. After so many years as partners in crime, the conversation flows like water between them, banter coming naturally. The last two years haven’t been an exception.
Sometimes, the way they meshed — even from light years away and dampened by a screen — seemed too perfect to be anything other than fate. And Lance would rib Keith lightly, smiling and looking up through his lashes in a way that screamed I like you. Maybe even I’m flirting with you.
It sparked something dangerous and hopeful in Keith’s gut.
But Keith would wake up the next morning convinced that it was all a conjuration of wishful thinking, the pseudo-sunlight of his ship’s day lights washing away the intimacy of their nighttime conversations.
(Lance had once asked why Keith was always in his night cycle when Lance called in the evening, even though the planets he stopped on would no doubt throw him out of sync. Keith had told him that he liked to line up with the Garrison, which was semi-true.
Really, Keith didn’t give a damn if he had to deliver updates to Garrison officials at three in the morning; what he cared about was being able to talk with Lance when they were both free.
Keith synched with the Garrison because Lance was there, not the other way around. But admitting he was attuned to Lance — had positioned him as the center of his universe and had been orbiting him from afar — would be far, far too revealing.)
In short, Keith has kept his silence through it all, erecting floodgates to keep the tsunami of his affection from crashing full-force into Lance. He’s half-convinced himself that he shouldn’t see Lance again — not until his feelings peter out — if only to preserve his sanity and the state of their relationship.
But now.
Now, Keith can’t care about any of that.
There’s a lot he could be thinking about: The suit, stretched almost uncomfortably across his shoulders, less flexible than his marmoran uniform. The crowd, swirling in patterns he follows lazily from his balcony viewpoint. The heat of bodies enclosed in close quarters, their chatter buzzing through his head. The exhaustion seeping into his bones. How this ball, though not a typical mission, is still just another time when Keith feels scrutiny on him, eyes glued to the leader of the Blade.
(He’s never been one for crowds.)
He’s not thinking about any of that.
No, those thoughts all fly out of his head in a second, expelled with his breath after one glance upward.
Because here Keith is—
in a tailored suit
at a lavish party
in an enormous ballroom
in an alien castle
on one of the many planets in this giant, galaxy-spanning Coalition in this impossibly vast universe —
and across the room is Lance.
✽✽✽
He’s unmistakable, even from this distance. Beautiful, Keith thinks. And then: Am I dreaming?
Because this is— it feels... impossible. Out of the infinite spaces Lance could be inhabiting right now, he’s here, close enough that Keith could cross the room to him. Close enough that Keith could cross the room and touch him , and if that doesn’t make his head spin and heart kick up.
It shouldn’t seem so unfathomable. Lance is one of the highest ranked garrison officials there is; he’s traveled all across the coalition, negotiating treaties and mediating conflicts. Giving a piece of his mind to anyone who puts the good of their citizens at stake.
(Keith’s seen him afterward through video call, tuckered out but beaming in quiet satisfaction the way he does now after a win. He’s outgrown his need to preen and boast — something about the way his talents are finally being recognized, maybe. Hopefully. He deserves it.
“Good work, Lance,” Keith remembers saying one time, voice a dead giveaway to his feelings. But seeing Lance happy just does something to him. He can’t help it; the fondness trickles through the cracks in his veneer like the glow of magma peeking through rock; intense, eternal, surging up from the core of him.
“Thanks, Keith,” Lance had smiled, and he looked so handsome sitting with his coalition dress suit unbuttoned like that, baring the sharp contours of his collarbone, hair tousled, eyes bleary but so soft, so warm —
Keith doesn’t know how he stopped himself from letting the words bubble right up out of him.)
So.
It makes sense that Lance is here. It’s not often that Keith flits among the already established coalition planets — he’s usually traversing the outskirts, stabilizing suffering, overlooked worlds that haven’t yet healed from the war’s aftereffects — but this is Lance’s domain: here in the midst of people , at the center of it all, everyone in his orbit. Even when they were paladins, he’d shined at diplomatic functions; it’s his calling. Lance should be here.
It just feels too good to be true, that’s all.
This whole time, a little bit of Keith has wondered if the universe is playing some grand, cosmic joke on him. Because every time he’s planned to meet up with Lance — a rendevouz at a function such as this, a brief visit to Earth, a dinner at one of Hunk's new restaurants — something has always intervened.
Keith’s been able to see Pidge, Hunk, Allura, Romelle, Coran, Shiro… everyone , even if only on the odd occasion. Everyone except Lance.
Keith can think of a thousand times when he thought it would finally happen. He’d smiled with Lance on the video link and stayed up into the night imagining gifts and grand gestures… all the ways he might confess when they finally saw each other, face to face, only for some emergency to crop up at the last moment.
Or even worse, no emergency at all, just dumb luck. Like when Lance’s garrison shuttle had a fuel leak, and they’d had to make a pit stop for repairs, only able to get back on the road thanks to Lance’s ingenuity. He’d shown up at New Altea only to be greeted by a sympathetic Allura and empty chairs that had been full the night before.
Keith had already gone.
It’s been this way since the war ended. They pass each other in the night like planets in conjunction, orbits close but never tangent, just out of alignment. It’s tantalizing and agonizing and Keith has even, sometimes, wondered if they’re star crossed, destined to be apart forever more.
But now, here, after all this time and so many narrow misses, without Keith even hearing a word about the possibility —
Lance. In the flesh. Too good to be true.
And absolutely radiant .
The golden light filling the room glints off his hair, turning it copper like the pennies Keith’s dad used to collect. It reflects off the shiny curls he knows Lance works so hard to maintain, making a beacon of him in the congregation.
Before he knows it, Keith’s moving, drawn to that light.
He gets to the top of the staircase before he has to stop. There’s barely room in his lungs; he sucks in an overwhelmed breath, dizzy with a heady mix of relief and hope. His fingers twitch as he imagines making his way to Lance only to have him disappear once again, evaporating just before Keith can reach him.
Keith isn’t sure he could take that kind of heartbreak.
He drinks in the view of Lance greedily, his figure clearer from this vantage. And he honestly can’t wait any more— he can’t lessen the intensity of his stare or quell the urgency in his body or pay any mind to the trailing off of conversation around him as people inevitably take notice, turning to look for the target of his gaze.
He moves.
The steps of the staircase barely register; Keith descends by muscle memory, legs carrying him automatically forward. He presses through the throng with a steady intensity, his only thought that he has to see Lance. He doesn’t — he can’t — stop for pleasantries, even as some people make aborted moves to talk to him.
(A part of him worries that if he stops, Lance will be gone by the time he gets there, disappeared into the crowd. Or worse — nothing but a figment of Keith’s tortured, love-sick imagination.)
He makes his way to the dance floor and strides forward, single minded. He ignores the way more eyes follow him now that he’s in the open; ignores the way some couples stop dancing as he passes, either because they’re in his path or because they’re too intrigued to do anything but watch.
It doesn’t matter at all, because now Keith can make Lance out again, bright and oblivious on the other side of the ballroom.
He’s dancing with a tall, broad alien woman who seems to be doting on him. (Unsurprising.) Her hand spans the width of his trim waist, but Lance, as usual, isn’t intimidated in the least by someone others might call fearsome. Not even by how small he is in comparison. He’s all smiles and charmed laughs as she twirls him around like he weighs nothing. Though maybe it’s more truthful to say she’s charmed by him— Lance brings out the best in everyone.
Sunshine, Keith thinks. He kind of hates that he feels disgruntled seeing Lance in the woman’s arms. Lance isn’t beholden to him. He deserves to have a fun night.
And hopefully that night can include Keith.
Keith continues his advance through the crowd, eyes locked on his target. The way is significantly clearer now, though, aliens clearing a path before his severe gaze and purposeful stride. Silence spreads in a rippling tide through the dance floor, radiating outward with Keith’s fierce intensity as its nucleus. It only half registers — Keith needs to be there. Needs to get to Lance. Anything else is secondary.
As he gets closer, Keith sees the exact moment Lance’s partner marks his approach. Her eyes widen, flickering down to Lance and back up, and her hands loosen just a tad on his waist. Then she steps away from him, obviously wary. It’s just a tiny half step, but all the same it sparks a flicker of selfish pride in Keith’s gut. He’s closing in on them now.
He stops just a stride away.
Lance stills.
He must see the look on his partner’s face — or maybe he just senses the presence behind him, still attuned to his fighting instincts — because he tenses, caution evident in the tilt of his head. Freed from the woman’s embrace, he takes a hurried step backward, shoulders stiffening, brow furrowing, starting to turn over his shoulder—
He crashes right into Keith’s chest.
Keith's hands come up to steady him at the hip, but Lance evades his grasp, whirling the rest of the way around and then—
Oh. Their eyes lock.
“ Keith .” It manifests as a gasp, breathed out from Lance’s lips as they fall slack. He stares up at Keith in disbelief, frozen.
And— and wow .
Distance hasn’t done Lance justice. He looks unreal up close, too beautiful to exist—and yet he’s more vivid than ever, the flush on his cheeks and slight sheen of sweat on his collarbones making him seem so alive .
“Lance ,” Keith returns. It's all he can say, can think about. He drinks in the details, the little things he hasn’t been able to see through his screen: the wash of freckles across Lance’s cheekbones, the way his suit clings so wonderfully to his shoulders, the ring of icy blue in his eyes, the spidery curl of his lashes, the new sharpness of his jaw… the tiny scar just above his lip.
Lance’s lips – they look so soft up close, slightly sheened with gloss. Begging to be kissed.
He could stare forever, but Lance cuts it short with a cry of happiness, throwing his arms around Keith's neck and pulling him into a fierce hug. He nuzzles under Keith’s jaw and inhales deeply.
“I missed you— so much ,” he says.
And Keith’s palms can finally trace the paths they take in his dreams, pressing against the line of Lance’s spine, holding him close against Keith’s chest. Against his heart, where he belongs.
“I missed you, too,” he murmurs.
The zone of quiet around them is disappearing, the rest of the party returning to their own dances and turning away from the spectacle. Lance’s partner must have slinked off somewhere, recognizing the moment for what it is: a reunion.
It gives them privacy — anonymity — in the midst of the crowd. It means Keith can clench his eyes shut and breathe in the smell of Lance and squeeze the other man against him. It means Keith can brush his lips against Lance’s temple and thank every star in the universe that they found each other tonight.
They hold each other.
By the time they separate, the song has reached its end. Accompanied by the scattered applause throughout the ballroom, Keith lifts a slim brown hand in his own and presses a lingering kiss to the palm.
“It’s good to see you, Lance,” he says.
His voice is raw; his face feels naked. Keith’s known for his poker face, but here, in front of Lance, he has no self control. His emotions are spilling over onto his face like tears, too strong to be constrained.
He looks into Lance’s eyes and that suddenly doesn’t seem like such a bad thing.
“Yeah,” Lance whispers, a gentle and devastating smile on his face. He reaches a hand up — soft, Keith notes — and tucks some hair behind Keith’s ear. His fingers trace a gentle path across Keith’s jaw; his eyes flick across his face but inevitably come back to meet Keith’s own, the blue in them impossibly seeming warm toned with the full fond force of Lance’s gaze.
For the first time since the war ended, Keith feels seen by someone who understands him completely . He basks in Lance’s presence like a plant soaking up sustenance from the sun.
“It’s good to see you, too,” Lance says.
Has Keith mentioned yet that he loves him?
“ Keith!”
Keith snaps his mouth shut. And oh , he hadn’t realized he was about to say anything. But this is what happens when Lance is around; Keith’s head takes a backseat and his heart works on autopilot.
Maybe this is for the best, Keith thinks wryly, turning to greet Allura with a smile.
“Hey,” he says, and nods at Romelle, who’s followed just behind and now slots her arm lovingly around Allura’s waist. “Good to see you both.”
“We’re so excited you could make it!” Romelle gushes. “Allura and Lance have been planning this gala for months now! Didn’t it turn out just amazing?”
Keith raises an eyebrow and glances sideways at Lance. “That’s odd, I don’t remember hearing anything about it.”
And to Keith’s absolute delight, a rosy flush rises on Lance’s cheeks. Lance ducks his head and picks at a thread on his jacket. “Yeah, well, it didn’t seem that important.”
God, he’s so cute.
Lance continues, glancing up at Keith sheepishly. “I thought, why bother you about it when you couldn’t —“ His brow wrinkles in confusion, an abruptly adorable sight. Keith’s torn between admiring how vivid Lance’s expressions seem here, face to face, and wanting to smooth out that wrinkle with his hands. “—well, I thought you couldn’t come…”
And Keith wants to tell Lance again — as many times as it’ll take — that he can tell Keith anything, it doesn’t matter if it’s silly or stupid or whatever. It doesn’t matter if any of the jerks in his past told him his ideas aren’t important or he shouldn’t talk about himself; Keith will never, ever stop listening.
But honestly, Keith’s kind of floored by Lance’s revelation.
“I couldn’t come,” he says, confused. “Not until Kolivan let me off the hook last minute. But we hadn’t told anyone about the mission…”
“Ah, well… I maybe asked Kolivan to keep me updated about your schedule, you know, a while back…” Lance scratches the back of his neck like he’s embarrassed, like he thinks Keith could be anything other than hopelessly in love hearing that.
Keith falls even further into Lance’s gravity. His heart pounds at the bars of its ribcage cell, demanding to be let closer to Lance’s own.
“You—” Keith says, stunned. And maybe… maybe it hasn’t all been in his head. His mind spins with a thousand ideas of the reasons that caused Lance to ask for such weighty, secret knowledge. Has he longed to know Keith’s okay? Has he needed to latch onto every little piece of Keith’s life he can get his hands on, with them being so far apart? Has he planned calls and messages around the missions he’s no doubt heard about?
Has he felt even a sliver of what Keith has?
Maybe, it occurs to Keith, Lance has been orbiting him , too— tracking Keith’s every move and counting the miles between them, all the while wishing they were in touching distance.
The sudden revelation that Lance cares so much… it sends Keith adrift. Unbidden, memories from their earliest garrison days spring into Keith’s consciousness, diagrams of binary star systems swirling behind his eyelids.
Two stars, orbiting a common barycenter, each affected by the other in their cosmic paths, but unable to ever meet.
Unless one or both slow down — too entranced to keep moving, maybe, just from watching the other — and then they come crashing together, two giant masses pulled together together together by innate gravity.
Boom.
“You never told me,” Keith says.
Lance’s eyes flick up to meet his, and Keith wonders what kind of intensity he must be wearing on his face, because it suddenly seems that Lance can’t look away, a gorgeous pink spilling over his cheekbones.
Then he smiles and shrugs, sheepish, “Never worth mentioning,” he replies.
A breath passes. Lance inhales deeply—
“You know,” he continues, turning back to Allura and Romelle, the moment over, “I’ve been dying to try out our esteemed caterer. I’m sure Hunk outdid himself.” His eyes sparkle gleefully. And then, preferring his arm in an exaggerated fashion like some gentleman from ages ago: “Shall we, Romelle?”
She grabs him by the wrist instead and yanks him forward, evidently too excited by the prospect to wait: “Oh, yes!”
Allura catches Keith’s eye as he fondly watches them make their giggling way to the giant buffet tables along the wall.
“Have you said anything yet?” She asks.
And Keith doesn’t need to ponder what she’s referring to. He’s certain that they all know, except Lance. Keith’s not exactly subtle with his affections.
“No,” he says. His gaze wanders, as always, back to Lance, who’s still distinctive, bright, and beautiful in the midst of the crowd. “But... tonight, I think.”
It’s different — real — saying it out loud. And while one part of Keith fizzes nervously, another settles. He’s needed this; to confess. And Lance…
Maybe Lance needs this, too.
Allura’s pristine eyebrows rise, a corner of her mouth lifting. “Tonight? Good for you, Keith.” She grins, and with a gentle hand on his elbow, starts them walking toward the buffet, too.
“I’m glad,” she continues, “you’re a good match. And most importantly, you’ll make him happy; he sorely needs happiness.”
Her voice muses into something softer, and in it, Keith hears the remnants of her past with Lance. Allura and Lance realized soon into their relationship, back as paladins, that they loved each other as friends and nothing more, but Keith bets a part of Allura will always be protective of Lance. She may have saved his life already — giving him his lovely Altean marks in the process — but Keith thinks she’ll never stop looking out for him.
Keith thinks so because he feels the same.
“He does,” Keith agrees. And then, letting his wistfulness poke through, “He’ll make me happy, too.”
Allura tightens her hold on his arm, smiling gently up at him, and Keith couldn’t ask for a better friend.
✽✽✽
The food is good.
The whole party’s good, actually, now that Keith has his family close by. The crowds don’t bother him anymore; not when he’s got his arm around Lance’s shoulder and a close up view of his friends laughing together around the table.
They’re joking about Shiro’s disastrous proposal and how it was Adam who actually proposed first, whipping out his own ring box while Shiro was internally freaking out about misplacing his.
“Too bad I wasn’t there to see it!” Lance pouts, but Keith can see the edges of his smile fighting to turn up.
Keith wordlessly takes out his holopad and sets it on the table in front of Lance. The others look at it curiously, and Keith lets them stew for just a minute before he smirks (sue him, so maybe some of Lance's dramatic timing has rubbed off on him). “Good thing I got a video,” he says.
Shiro groans, cradling his face in his hands. Adam pats him on the back in sympathy, but there’s a glint in his eyes and a preening cast to his posture. He’s never let Shiro live it down. Keith thinks he doesn’t intend to anytime soon, either.
Keith sits back as Lance finds the video — easy enough, since it’s right near the top of his camera roll — and lets the satisfaction of seeing his whole family together roil calmly in his stomach. He’s scanning the rest of the room, where the coalition officials and any other guests are tucking into their meals, when a flash of black catches his eye.
Kolivan’s standing up against a column, stoic as always, but gentler, somehow. Keith’s never seen the guy fully drop his guard — and he suspects he never will — but this has gotta be the closest he’s ever gotten. Before he knows it, Keith’s standing, quietly slipping away and crossing to him.
“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” Kolivan says, before Keith can even open his mouth.
“I am,” Keith admits, because it’s useless to pretend otherwise. “I’m… actually really glad Acxa ended up running the relief mission to Geras, and I got assigned to come here instead. I would’ve hated to miss it.” Keith may be leader of the Blade of Marmora now, but their organization still answers to the New Galra Council, headed by none other than his mom and Kolivan, the father figure he’s been missing for over ten years.
(Sometimes he laughs at the irony, that he didn’t have parents to listen to for most of his childhood, only to have them — whether blood related or found — turn up when he’s an adult. But honestly, he wouldn’t change it for the world.
The only downside is, he can’t always choose his own schedule, what with said parents directing the whole reestablishment of Galra society. Hence, the Lance-shaped absence in his life for the past two years.)
Keith notices something akin to a smirk on Kolivan’s face. The older Galra has never been very expressive, so it’s subtle, but Keith’s known him for long enough to tell the difference.
“What?” He asks.
“I may have… modified the schedule a bit, so as to allow you to come.”
“What? Why?”
Keith’s… shocked. He’s not good at diplomacy; even Zethrid would’ve been better than him for this mission.
Kolivan fixes him with a sincere stare.
“You’ve been missing the Blue Paladin,” he says. “Krolia and I thought it was time you see him.”
What.
“Kolivan, I —” Keith has to pause, breathing deeply. “You — thank you ,” he gets out, impossibly floored and impossibly touched . “You didn’t have to.”
At that, Kolivan just thumps him on the shoulder.
“Your mother wants you to be happy. And… I want you to be happy, too.”
Keith is suddenly blinking some excess moisture from his eyes. Kolivan heads back to his own table — where Keith’s mom is eagerly discussing something with Colleen Holt — but the warmth of his blessing lingers, following Keith for the whole night to come.
✽✽✽
Sometime later, Keith finds himself on the dance floor and holding Lance again, though this time they’re actually dancing.
Well, that might be a generous description for it.
They’re swaying gently, because while Keith’s sure Lance could lead them into some wild, upbeat, swirling dance, the mood of the party has quieted somewhat. The band plays something saccharine, slow, and syrupy, and even social butterfly Lance looks like he’s winding down a little after hours of eating and laughing and chatting and, yes — dancing.
Keith won’t complain about the sleepier atmosphere, though, if it means he gets to hold Lance against his chest like this, to wrap his arm around his waist like he’s always imagined.
They’re turning slowly —a subtle rocking motion to match the lazy, satisfied beating of Keith’s heart —when Lance inhales.
“Keith.”
“Yes?”
Those sapphire eyes bore into Keith. And though Lance’s perfect brows are scrunched up in consternation, his eyes don’t seem upset; rather… hopeful?
“I saw a message on your pad. When you were talking with Kolivan. I didn’t mean to! But I was closing out the proposal video and misclicked and…”
He trails off, biting his lip. And that’s enough to sidetrack Keith, to get him lost in fantasies of feeling those sweet lips moving against his own, to taste the words right out of Lance’s mouth, to—
“It was Shiro. He’d messaged you, saying you should ‘tell him tonight.’ And I guess, sometimes I’ve thought… I’ve wondered ...” His lashes flutter as he takes another deep breath. “Were you talking about me? Is there something you want to tell me, Keith?”
And there it is.
Laid out so easy.
Yes, Keith thinks, I have so much to tell you.
But he thinks he’d rather say it where there are fewer listening ears, somewhere private and romantic to match his feelings.
“Follow me,” Keith says, and Lance does. (Neither of them can refuse the other anything, Keith suspects.)
They slip out of the ballroom quietly, avoiding attention, turning a few corners and ending up beneath silver moonlight. Here on the balcony, Lance is twice-lit and ethereal; blue light from the sky turning his hair and lashes delicate and fairy-like, the golden glow from inside warming his skin.
Keith has waited so long to have him like this; alone, happy, beautiful, hands warm and real in his own. And fear pales in comparison to the supernova of want in Keith’s chest.
“It was about you,” he confesses, voice deep and desperate, devoted. “That message was about you. Everything is about you, Lance.”
He pulls one of Lance’s hands up to rest on his chest — over his wild, percussive heart — and trusts that it will betray him, giving away how much of a staggering effect Lance has on him, always. He covers Lance’s hand with his own and keeps talking.
“You must know that by now — I’ve been trying to wait, to tell you once I could finally see you, but I know I’m not good at hiding things like this. Things I feel . Because… I have feelings for you, Lance.”
Keith lets his eyes regard Lance with all the ardor — the desire — that he’s hidden for years.
Lance’s hand flexes against Keith’s pecs, the fingers of both his hands intertwining with and tightening against Keith’s.
“Good,” Lance says, and he pulls Keith in with a tug on his shoulder, a pleased little smirk on that gorgeous face, “because I have feelings for you, too.”
Keith stumbles forward, crowding Lance up against the wall. They’re nose to nose, close enough for Keith to see the constellation of freckles on Lance’s cheeks and the sun-bleached tips of his eyelashes. This is no longer just touching distance; it’s too close for that.
It’s kissing distance.
Keith’s eyes follow his thoughts, trailing down to the mouth that’s featured in his dreams so many nights. He nudges forward, just so, barely a hair's breadth between them, drawn in inevitably. And Lance sways forward, too, like the ocean responding to the moon's pull, an opening of his posture, a tilting of his neck and head to align them just so, an amplification of his breath as his pulse — if it’s anything like Keith’s — goes wild.
Keith watches Lance’s eyes flit to his own lips and back, gaze molten — greedy — when it returns to meet Keith’s own. And that’s enough to snap his control.
“ Lance ,” he breathes, watching those soft lips part under his breath. The fact that they’re there, pliant, ready for him but still unclaimed, unbitten, un-worshipped… It needs remedy immediately. Lance’s lips are meant to be kissed.
Keith captures them with his own, feeling their texture like rose petals.
Lance opens against him, a soft sound of surprise — somewhere between gasp and moan — slipping out of him. As Keith's arms come up to encircle him, to pull him closer so their bodies are flush, Lance presses up against him. He returns the kiss with fervor, hands gripping at Keith’s clothes — at his hair— with barely contained strength.
They mold and slide together, the warm seam of their lips connecting with the kind of perfection Keith thought only existed in movies. But it’s so much more, too — this kiss vibrates with the energy of a magnetic discharge, a detonation, an electric potential finally resolving… a solar flare, maybe.
And Keith, as the dopamine floods his system, remembers:
There are two major outcomes that can happen when stars collide. They can impact with force, sending both entities exploding into gas — nothing left afterward except the absence of light — or they can come together slowly, merging to form a blue straggler star, hotter and brighter than either of the original stars were to begin with.
Their collision has been the second kind, Keith thinks — because this, the luminous, brilliant, burning conclusion to their pining — it’s not destruction. Not of their friendship or their dynamic or anything Keith feared he’d ruin with a confession; nothing. It’s the creation, rather , of a whole new, beautiful future.
It’s taken two years, but just one second of kissing Lance makes the time seem a nominal price to pay for the joy of being the one to hold Lance; to love him.
Keith pulls back when he can no longer ignore his lungs’ screaming, his heart fizzing through another happy aftershock as Lance leans forward as he goes, chasing their kiss. He’s flushed and mussed and his mouth is a slick, red mess.
So beautiful.
And if Keith thought Lance was glowing before, the first time he laid eyes on him — well, Lance is even brighter now, effusing happiness, white smile enough to blind and Altean marks twinkling. Looking at him is like staring straight at the sun, minus the danger of blindness; instead, Keith risks never looking away from Lance.
He is absolutely celestial where he radiates under Keith’s palms.
And he stares at Keith like he’s the one who just lived out a waking dream. His palm cups Keith’s face again; it shakes just slightly as Lance blinks up at him, awe and relief in his eyes.
“I missed you,” he breathes, life changing, and Keith has to kiss him again, ducking down to steal Lance’s breath the way Lance does to him every day, every hour, every second just by existing. Lance, again, accepts Keith with open arms.
You are the one, Keith thinks, the surety of years and years of devotion clarifying into a pinpoint of light, a ball of glowing energy. There’s no one else for me.
It feels like Lance is kissing the same sentiment back into him. It’s incandescent, this kiss — being kissed, by such a wonderful boy. Keith’s heart trembles in his chest, an addict finally getting that ecstatic hit.
“I missed you,” Lance says again when they part. The blue of his eyes has misted over; his lashes darken with the beginnings of tears. He ducks his face into Keith’s shoulder and speaks again, this time muffled, heard as vibration but still so clear:
“So much, Keith.”
And the tone of his voice is suddenly painfully familiar. It evokes a rush of memories that hurtle to the forefront of Keith’s mind with the same velocity and impact as a wormhole jump:
“ Hey guys, Keith’s back!”
“Two years… that’s a long time.”
“Keith, don’t you dare run off alone… let’s do this together. Please .”
“You don’t have to go. You could stay on Earth.”
“You’re always welcome with me.”
And with startling clarity, hundreds of nights, the two of them falling asleep over video link, Lance’s voice whispering or whining or shouting:
“When are you coming home—“
“Will your mission be done soon—“
“Keeeith, come homeeee—“
“You should visit me—“
“Are you free soon—“
“When are you coming to Earth—“
“When can I see you—“
“When are you coming back—“
“When are you coming back—“
“When are you coming back—“
“When are you coming back, Keith?” Lance’s voice barely carries over the line, whispered as it is on the edge of sleep. He’s sleepy and pure and honest , wrapped up in his blankets and blinking slowly at Keith. “I miss you.”
I miss you.
Suddenly Keith knows Lance isn’t just saying I missed you. He means I missed you because I need you . I missed you because I want you. I missed you because you belong with me.
Something blooms in Keith’s chest, a nuclear fusion — the creation of a star. Of a sun, just as bright as Lance.
No, Lance isn’t saying I miss you. He means—
“I love you,” Keith murmurs, and then he says it again. “I love you, too.”
He tightens his arms around the love of his life, the brightest thing in this universe. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
He never intends to let go.
✽✽✽