Work Text:
"Keith, c'mon man, get in the frame,"
"No."
"It's one picture!" Lance sighed, exasperated. "Can you not be an asshole for like, 2 seconds?"
"Take it yourself. I don't wanna be in it." He stood there, unflinching, as Lance tried unsuccessfully to pull him closer to his selfie stick. (no, Pidge, it's not lame. It was four whole American dollars and he's very proud of that purchase.)
"What is your problem?!"
Keith's response was immediate. "You."
"Oh, fuck you."
Lance would actually really, really like to-
"Yeah, yeah." Keith rolled his eyes, "If you're done being dramatic, we can go catch the bus back."
"I'm not being dramatic!" Lance cried, dramatically. "It's called being sentimental. Not that you would know anything about that." He mumbled.
"I guess the foster care system sucks that out of you." he shrugged, a bored expression on his face.
"You did not just use the orphan card."
"Just did." He smirked, "What are you gonna do about it?"
And wow- nope. Lance was going to ignore the absolute acrobatics routine his stomach just did, and remember Keith does not mean that in any dirty way. Because that's Keith. And Keith would never like him that way.
"You-nothing!" He huffed. "Forget it, dude. I just wanted a photo of us. We barely fuckin' have any. Whatever, I'm not gonna beg you for it." He retracted his selfie stick with more aggression than necessary and stalked off towards the bus stop.
Fuck the selfie stick. Fuck this beach. He could not believe he went out with Keith without Hunk. Not that Hunk was just some buffer, but things with Keith get so heated so quickly- and not in the way that Lance would like- that being alone together is just a recipe for disaster (and more often than not, destruction of public property). So, all in all, today was actually pretty tame.
Except, Lance didn't want tame. After all the fighting and arguing and competition, Lance just wanted Keith. Lance swears up and down to the others that he bothers Keith that much just to rile him up, but, in all honestly, it just feels good to be close to him.
The dark-haired idiot liked to parade around acting all cold. Unfeeling. So totally unimpressed by everything that people were scared just to approach him.
Some nights when they've drunk far too much and they push their questions past the walls he has up, Keith answers and tells them it's better that way. That he wasn't made to be close to people. He says it with such finality, like he truly believes it. Like he's supposed to be alone.
On those nights, Lance wants to hold him tight and try to make him feel even a fraction of everything he feels for Keith. He tries to convey through his eyes that you make me feel safe, and warm and I don't think I've ever felt as close to home, away from Cuba, as I do with you.
Instead, his mouth gets there first and suddenly the ugliest parts of being in love resurface. He's defensive that he cares so much about one guy, and so he pushes. He pushes and pushes till Keith finally pushes back. Because he is an absolute idiot, and sometimes the weight of love is far too much for a 19-year-old boy.
"Wait-" A hand pulling at his sleeve snaps him out of his internal spiral. He rips it out of Keith's grasp and keeps walking.
"Lance I'm- jesus, can you slow down? Some of us aren't 8 feet tall."
He bites back the retort that would've bordered on straight-up flirting, and channels that energy into walking faster with his '8-foot tall' legs.
"Lance, I want to take a picture with you, so will you stop running away from me, already!?" Keith snaps.
"Oh, well thank you, your majesty. What an honour." He drawls, " A picture with the grea- Oof." He speaks the rest of that sentence into the sand. Where his face is currently residing, because Keith fucking tackled him to the ground. "What the hell, man? Get off of me!" He struggles against Keith's iron grip.
"I fucking told you to stop walking away," he growled, his face contorted into a scowl, only inches away from his. Strong thighs bracketed his hips, and he could see Keith's hand where it lay by his head, fist closed and clutching the sand like he could melt it into glass.
He swallowed, mouth suddenly dry, so dry, and it had nothing to do with the sand, or the heat- just Keith. Keith Keith Keith. Images that should not have been in his mind in this situation suddenly swarmed his thoughts, as he stared unabashedly at the pair of lips he'd wanted to kiss since day one. The pair of lips currently twisted, and accompanied by a glare that would've warned a saner man away.
Lance wanted to kiss Keith so bad it hurt.
But he knew it would've hurt more after it was done. Keith would storm off in a frenzy and he would say something ridiculous to play it off and they would be right back where they started. No, not even there. They would be over before they had even begun.
So Lance kept his mouth shut and hands firmly to himself. He looked straight at Keith and spoke calmly. "Get. Off. Me."
The look of shock, then hurt that registered on Keith's face immediately after almost made him regret his decision.
But an hour later, on their stuffy bus that smelt like sweat and beer and salt, when Keith shuffled towards him and wordlessly dropped double stuff oreos on his lap, Lance knew he made the right call.
And three hours later, in the safety of their dorm room, Keith pulls out a camera that looks older than their plumbing system, and quietly takes him through the lens settings.
Because this is Keith. And he can't say sorry outright yet, or say he appreciates Lance in those words- or any words-, but as he recalls how his dad taught him how to use it, and as he bets that if they were to print out the roll in there, it would be filled to the brim with his mother smiling, walking, reading- just...being, Lance is reminded that all the love that Keith had ever known has left him.
He decides he's going to wait. He's going to stay by Keith's side, and wait- however long it takes. So, he meets Keith's wary gaze, pulls out a twenty from his back pocket, and bets that the roll is full of photos of desert cowboys and venomous snakes. Because that's what Lance does.
He smiles as Keith rolls his eyes so hard he's positive they look a little wonky when he's done, and shifts a little closer when Keith readies the camera.
"So I'm in the frame," He explains.
Keith nods. He's holding the camera like he's going to take the picture, but his eyes never leave Lance's. The click never comes, because he is just staring. There's a smile on his face that makes a crinkle in the corners of his eyes, and he's in his sleep shirt that's a little rumpled and he just looks so soft-
Fuck.
Get it together, man.
"SO let's take the picture?" He exclaims, way too loud to sound normal.
"Oh- um. Yes." Keith responds, also too loud to sound normal.
The click finally goes off, and it captures the scene. Just 2 normal guys, sitting no feet apart in a bed small enough to pass as an overlarge ottoman, with absolutely normal thoughts about each other.
-2 years later-
"I'M GRADUATING BITCHESSZZ!!" Lance informs the whole train station during rush hour, because he's tipsy at 8 in the morning.
Hunk, usually the beacon of common sense and social awareness, bounds after Lance and shouts at the top of his lungs, "I'M GRADUATING TOO, BIT-hm. No. That seems a little rude, you know?" he clears his throat, "I'M GRADUATING EVERYONE!!"
"Shut the fuck up! You're being far too fucking loud. The sun is barely up so PIPE DOWN, ASSHOLES." Someone yells from the blur of strangers.
Well. Fuck them, Lance decides. He also tells them so, which makes them understandably pissed, and oh-no. They're coming over here, shit, run run run
"Run run run," He continues out loud, as he whizzes through the barriers and tries to shield himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers that he's left Hunk behind. Well, it's every man for himself, now.
He keeps chanting his mantra of "run" till he slams into a warm body, and "run" suddenly becomes "Keith". Because Keith is here. Holding him steady, balancing the weight of them both as Lance tips forward into Keith's personal space.
"Running from something?" His eyebrow quirks in such a Keith manner that Lance forgets the words he's spent 21 years accumulating.
"Uh,"
Gold star for Lance McClain, Astrophysics graduate, for remembering 'Uh.' Fuck him.
"Lance?" The beautiful eyebrow quirk has disappeared, allowing Lance some human function back, "Lance, are you okay?" The hands on his biceps tighten, and worried midnight blue eyes dart across his face.
Keith has beautiful eyes.
...
Lance has also decided to become full moron today, because he told Keith that. To his face. While in his arms- oh god, his arms-
'Thank- thank you." He clears his throat. A violent blush is making it's way across Keith's cheeks, and he suddenly can't hold eye contact with Lance anymore. Because of an innocent compliment.
Good lord, he needs to compliment Keith more.
"No, you really don't Lance," He sighs, but there's a smile playing at his lips that betrays how he really feels. "You do it enough, trust me."
"I don't do you enough," Lance states, all inhibitions forgotten (read: blocked by Bailey's). "And by enough, I mean at all."
Keith's face flames, and he sputters out what sounds like "Shut up, Lance,", but Lance is too busy sobering the fuck up and realising what he's just said.
3 years. Three fucking years of longing glances and pining and grazing fingers and this is how he confesses? That's it. He wins Mega-Douche of the year award. Actually, make that century, because he is mortified.
If Keith notices how he's gone ramrod still, he doesn't show it, because he still holding Lance. Not that he's complaining. Like, at all. This is actually a fantasy of his, if that wasn't obvious enough.
"Nonono." He rushes out, before Keith can utter a word, "No."
"What-" He stops Keith by holding a hand to his mouth, while using the other one to sift through his notes. He fucking planned for this. he would not let Douche-Lance ruin this for Loverboy-Lance.
"Okay, so ladadadda, right. Okay. I never thought I would grad- wait. No. That's my grad speech for my family. Heh. They like to make a big deal out of it, it's totally embarrassing." He shuffles around some flashcards, before finding the right one.
It's pink and covered in hearts because his little sister said that's the way it's done. And, well- what does he know?
"Lance, what-"
"Keith. Keithy. My mullet mush. I- hold on. Mush? What does that even mean." He sighs, "Fuck I can't read my own damn handwriting!"
"What's written on th-"
"Like sure, Ms. Nunez, just give 4th grade Lance a pen license because he cried, SUREE. Now, he's 21 and can't read his own writing. The education system I tell ya," He remarks seriously. "Anyways, as I was saying. Ever since I met you-"
'Stop. What even-" Keith interrupts, "I mean, just- what?"
"Shh!" Lance hisses, "I am trying to confess over here, and you're just mouthing off! God! Are you like this every time someone tries to tell you their undying love for you?"
Keith blinks. He wants to be surprised. He wants to gape at Lance and call him crazy, but somewhere deep down he just knows. Because Lance showed Keith double stuff oreos. He showed him the power of sitcoms. He showed him that the Great British Bake Off is actually as stress-inducing as a minor civil war and yes, he needs to hold Keith's hand during it.
(He gets scared at horror movies and his hands get sweaty, so he doesn't want Keith to have to deal with Lance and his serial killer induced sweat.
Keith doesn't care.)
He put those stupid stickers on Keith's laptop, so he starts his studies off with a 'You go girl!' sign and god he wanted to be so mad. So fucking furious, because this is an embarrassing sticker. But it makes him smile. So he let it go.
Because he loves Lance.
Keith looks at him again, and makes up his mind.
"Technically," He starts, "You haven't confessed anything yet."
Lance blinks. Oh shit. All of this for him to forget to actually confess. "Er, right. My love for you," He announces." It's um- undying."
"...Seriously?" Keith scoffs.
Lance looks affronted," Excuse you! Do you know how hard it is to be the first one to say it? Asshole." He jabs a finger at Keith's (firm, oh fuck) chest, "I have loved you since we were eighteen, dumbass. I mean, fuck you! Three seconds into being a functional adult and BAM. You walk in all moody and pissed off and better at physics than me, so yeah! Of course you stole my heart right out of it's ribcage! You thieving fucker. I was gonna confess to you at that god-awful beach on our first summer there, but duh- you were being a righteous dickhead."
Lance paused, "Alright, I wasn't too great either, but whatever. We weren't ready. Fine by me. I'm a patient guy. Then you went all soft and you told me I was you- your best friend-" His voice cracked, but he had to keep going. "You told me more about your family, and your childhood, and fuck, I wanted to be there for you then, or I don't know- change the past! You deserved so much better, Keith. You still do. I swear, whatever happens today, after this, I'm still going to think so. And I'm going to spend every day trying to give you better and it's going to be good. Okay?"
Lance is crying now, he's sure of it. But he just feels so much for Keith, that he's surprised the dam didn't burst earlier.
"Okay," Keith echoed softly.
"Okay." He reaches out and pulls Keith into a hug. It's far from their first hug, but it is the first time Lance allows himself to to just touch Keith. His fingers slide into that mop of black hair and he splays a hand across his back. Firm, to serve as a reminder of his promise that he will always be there for Keith, in whatever way he lets him. He lets his head drop onto Keith's shoulders and drops a feather-light kiss on the exposed skin underneath the collar.
He can feel Keith swallow, and feels how his hands shake a little as he holds Lance just as tight; how he tilts his head unknowingly to make room for Lance. Because that's what he's always done. There was something missing this whole damn time, and he finally had it. Keith had been making room for Lance in his life long before he was even aware of his feelings.
"I love you," He confesses quietly into Lance's embrace. "Its- I'm not saying it just because."
He steps away a little so he can tilt his head up to look at Lance properly, "You deserve to know," His hands move to cradle Lance's face, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
Oh yeah, Lance is definitely crying. That's the stuff.
"Say it again." He pleads.
Keith huffs, "I love you, Lance,"
Lance lets out a breath and grips his chest, "Oh shit, Keith, you might actually kill me,"
Keith removes his hands faster than Lance can apologise, "I will kill you if you don't shut up."
"No," There's a dangerous lilt to Lance's voice, "You loooove me,"
"Ugh."
"You lurrrrvvveeeee- Ouch!" He winced, clutching at his wounded (lightly punched) arm. "Yeah, alright, I deserved that," He smiles dopily at Keith, who clears his throat.
"I'm going to kiss you now." he declares. He's got that look of utter concentration on his face, and his eyes are tracking Lance's mouth like a man on a mission.
"Here?" He gestures to the masses of people, and the general disgusting vibe of a train station corner. Not quite first kiss worthy.
Keith shrugs, "I would kiss you in an aeroplane toilet, Lance. I don't care."
"Oh," he squeaks, "Neato."
Dear god, kill him now. Neato? Did the spirit of someone's goofy dad overtake him in one of the most important moments of his life?
He can see Keith hiding his snickers poorly behind his arm. "I am never going to let you live that down, just so you know," He snorts, "Neato."
"Fine by me, if you plan on keeping me around that long," Lance grins. He inches a little closer, and his hands find Keith's hips.
"Mhm." Keith's hands are sliding up his coat around his neck and fuck- this is really happening.
He leans forward and gently slots their lips together, his hands tightening their hold on Keith, wanting more, and needing to be even closer. Keith obviously got the memo because he pushes forward and moves against Lance's lips a little rougher, while lightly tugging at his hair. They've been waiting for this for so long that they can barely hold back. Keith slides his tongue into Lance's mouth, as Lance walks them back to a more secluded corner of the platform. He loops his fingers around Keith's belt loops and pulls him closer, molding him against Lance.
"Y'know, if I filmed that and posted it, it would make serious bank on some porn site for sexually repressed gay disasters," A voice came out of nowhere.
They jumped apart, partly embarrassed at being caught and partly annoyed that they had to stop.
"Pidge, no! They were having a moment!" Hunk appeared beside her, looking defeated.
She snorted. "Seemed like they were having multiple moments, if you catc-"
"Do not finish that sentence, squirt." Lance pleaded.
"Call me squirt and I will release your search history to your mom."
"NOnonononono. Please, no."
Pidge scrunched her nose, "Ew, Lance."
"Yeah, ew, Lance." Keith agreed.
"Oh, shut up, I had my tongue in your mouth 15 seconds ago. You don't get to talk."
Keith pursed his lips and turned away to hide the flush spreading across his pale skin. Cute. Just. So adorable. Lance couldn't believe this was his.
"Wait, you're my boyfriend right?" He blurted out.
"Oh-uh. Yes?"
"Cool."
"Mhm." Keith smirked, "Some might even say, Neato."
"Keith, why!" Lance wailed.
-
Years later, when they're standing face to face, hand in hand in front of their families, Keith will pull out a pink flashcard and a developed photo of the two of them in their old dorm, and he will tell the story from his perspective. About how a boy from Cuba walked into his life, insulted his hair, and then taught him how to love wholly. Lance will cry - at the surprise of no one- and will proceed to tell everyone that a selfie stick brought Keith and him together.
Somewhere in the crowd, Pidge groans.
The end!