my final entry for klanceweek! this time, for prompt #7: free day. i chose to go with the prompt “change” for this one. also this is a continuation of prompt #6!
Admittedly, Keith isn’t the worst dancer in the world.
The guy is a freakishly fast learner. It’s no wonder he consistently kicks the fighting simulator’s ass. And, as much as Lance wants to be jealous of how quickly Keith picks up on dancing, he’s far too distracted by… other things.
Like the fact Keith is pressed up against him. Their foreheads touching, Lance breathes in the same air Keith exhales. They continue turning, breath mingling, and Lance feels like his body is on fire. Every point of contact burns but in the most pleasant way imaginable.
Never in a million years did Lance think he’d be slow dancing with Keith. And, weirder still, he’s enjoying himself.
He, Lance McClain, is enjoying dancing with Keith.
There’s no denying it. Lance likes the weight of Keith in his arms, bodies aligned just right. The scant distance between their lips is definitely the worst temptation he’s had to endure all evening. It’s killing him. It would be easy to close that gap—and totally excusable! None of the guests would be surprised to see the Vruan prince and his escort kiss.
But… Keith would be against it.
Lance is pretty confident he’d get slapped. The two of them only briefly discussed ‘public displays of affection’ before stepping into the ballroom. Keith had been very against anything more than hand holding. He even hesitated when Lance brought up hugging. Hugging.
“This is kinda…” Lance whispers into the space between them.
“Yeah,” Keith agrees. He tips his head just the slightest bit, and Lance swears their mouths get even closer together.
Lance inhales sharply at the feeling of their noses brushing, Soft, gentle, so very unlike the arguments they have or their banter during training. Each brush follows the sway of their heads, naturally moving with the flow of the music. Lance wants to smooth his fingers over the curve of Keith’s jaw, wants to bury his fingers in dark hair. He wants to know the feel and taste of Keith’s mouth against his own.
“I can’t believe none of these people know where Lotor is,” Keith sighs.
Lance swears their lips touch for an instant, and his brain short-circuits.
“Some of them don’t seem like they know what’s going on outside their own little royal bubble. Or maybe they don’t care because the Galra empire hasn’t destroyed their planet yet. Hell, maybe some of these bastards struck up a deal with Zarkon to protect themselves.”
Is Keith… rambling?
“Mhmm,” Lance manages to respond. Could their lips possibly get any closer without touching? “Good point, babe.”
Keith huffs. “Are we really doing this again?”
“The… nickname thing.”
“Oh,” Lance drawls knowingly. His fingers twitch restlessly. “You don’t want me to call you ‘babe.’”
“But we’re supposed to be dating. That’s what people do when they’re together. They give each other cute pet names.”
“Like Sharpshooter?” Keith teases.
Actually… Lance swallows down the sudden lump in his throat. Because, now that he thinks about, ‘sharpshooter’ could qualify as a pet name. Especially the way Keith says it.
“Yeah,” Lance admits. Keith perceptibly stiffens in his hold. “But ‘babe’ might be safer for now. Just in case anyone heard and got suspicious.”
“Right, right, or, I mean, no pet names,” Keith blurts. “Whatever you, uh. Want.”
Something about Keith’s voice, laced with panic, gives Lance a boost of confidence. What’s the worst that could happen if I just asked?
“Hey… Keith. You know how we’re supposed to act like a couple, right?”
“And you know how couples act sometimes when they’re, you know, slow dancing?”
Keith’s silence is answer enough. Fear jolts through Lance’s body. Maybe he should take it back and pretend he never—
“Yeah,” Keith murmurs. It’s so quiet that Lance barely hears his reply over the sound of the music. “And?”
“Alright, well, I’m going to try something. I need you to play it cool, okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“There’s a reason I asked first,” Lance confesses. His cheeks are burning; he can only imagine how red they are. “So please don’t freak out. Just go with it.”
Keith mumbles what sounds like a, “yes,” and Lance feels his blood boil. Ever so carefully, he tilts his chin and gasps at the clumsy collision of their noses. It certainly isn’t enough to stop him, though. His hand seems to have a mind of its own and crawls up Keith’s back, resting at the nape of his neck. A small sigh falls from Keith’s mouth at the change in position. Lance frees his other hand and slides it along Keith’s jaw, drawing him closer. He gently presses his lips to Keith’s, although a little off-center.
Holy mother of quiznak.
Lance hovers there for a moment and then pulls away. His lips tingle pleasantly, excitement thrumming through his bones. This isn’t his first kiss, but… oddly enough, it feels like it. The sensation reminds Lance of running through the halls of a Galra base, shooting enemies, dodging shots. There’s a hint of trepidation underlying the excitement, but not in a bad way—quite the opposite.
Never has a kiss made Lance feel so alive.
“We should…” Keith pauses to lick his lips; Lance can’t look away. “Probably, uh. Again. Just in case.”
Reality crashes down around Lance. Right, this is just an act. The only reason they’re here, kissing, is to trick a crowd of aliens into thinking they’re a royal couple.
“Yeah,” Lance croaks and surges forward.
‘Fake kiss’ or not, Lance is going to make sure this one is memorable. No matter what happens, Lance knows he’ll remember this night for the rest of his life. There’s no way he’ll forget the first moment their lips met, the way Keith desperately gripped his suit jacket and pressed as close to him as humanly possible.
It’s like the universe itself shifts. Three years together in space, and Lance comes to a startling conclusion.
He might be in love.