Okay, so whoops. This was just a big giant accidental mistake on Lance’s part. Whoopsy fucking daisy. Lance probably should’ve stopped, or maybe even taken the time to realize who the hell he was talking to, but he didn’t.
Lance has never really been one to finish what he’s started. He leaves unfinished food lying around, only colors half the page, and often finds himself bored with an activity once he’s involved. Although, the thing Lance can never seem to stop doing, is run his mouth. It’s not his fault, it’s really not. But once the vocabulary begins, the word vomit just keeps coming.
So yeah, when Lance walked up to the beautiful girl with shiny skin, bright eyes, long black hair, and a nice ass, he really wasn’t expecting Keith to turn around.
They’d all been dressed up for this mission. Allura had given them all a huge, fabulous fucking makeover. Apparently they were trying to make a good impression on this planet, which happened to be absolutely thriving with pretty aliens. And god Lance had been so down for that. Lance himself was feeling pretty damn fine. His hair was messy but in a good way, and he had on some kind of alien makeup that made his face glow and his eyelids dark. The shirt was loose and cropped. The white, flowy material cuffed at his wrists and half way down his ribs. He felt like a cloud, but a hot cloud. It was paired with high waisted blue (jean? legging? weird alien material that made his ass 10/10?) booty shorts. He’d been ecstatic when he walked out and saw Pidge in a knee length, green sundress. She was honestly the cutest fucking person. And he’d gone on and on about Hunk’s amazing sunflower crown. He honestly couldn’t wait to see Shiro and Allura. He guessed they looked gorgeous and he bet if he stood next to them, his bisexual radar would go off the fucking charts. He pouted unabashedly when he’d been told they’d gone ahead to scout, and that Keith wasn’t too far behind. But he just went with the flow of things, landing on the alien planet with plans already being planned out.
When he’d seen the bright red sweater crop top thrown over tight, faux leather (or he’d thought so, but alien planet and all) black leggings, completed with adorable white high tops, he’d let his eyes take her all in. He took in the sleek, shiny shoulder length black hair, and the way the pale skin was reflecting the bright lights of what Lance assumed was an alien club. The way her violet eyes shone as she flashed him a smug smirk that made his stomach flutter.
Lance had taken the grin as an invitation, and waltzed over to the alien babe leaning against the bar with slick words already finding their way through his teeth.
“So do you…” his words trailed quietly as soon as all the features of the face he was looking at sunk in. But he’d started talking, and he knew wasn’t going to stop. He guessed he didn’t realize it was Keith because of how soft he looked, all the sharp edges somehow dulled by Allura’s charms. Keith was looking at him as if he was expecting something, and raised an eyebrow at him, signaling for him to continue. “Do you come here often?” he finished lamely.
Keith burst into a fit of laughter. He threw his head back and just laughed. Lance giggled a bit as well, considering their situation.
Keith leaned toward Lance and rested his chin on his hands.
“No I, I can’t say that I do,” Keith’s words sounded softer, too. Was Keith indulging him?
Lance must’ve looked as lost as he felt because Keith’s eyebrows furrowed and he scooted away from him before downing a glowing, blue shot of something strange.
“You should know, dumbass.” Keith’s voice even less Keith-y than before. He eyed Lance’s expression before waving him off. “Whatever, I’m a little tipsy.”
Lance realized that must explain the flirty smile from earlier. When he couldn’t think of a response, he did what he did best when it comes to Keith: he created a competition.
The ‘I bet I can drink more than you.’ slipped out of his mouth before he even considered what kind of consequences they could face from drinking weird, alien, alcoholic beverages.
He could hear the gears churning in Keith’s head. “Okay, but you have to catch up with me; I’ve already had three of these shots.”
And so here they were, dancing wildly to some upbeat alien song. Lance’s mouth just kept moving, and he was less conscious of it now than he’d been 7 drinks ago. Neither of them knew what he was even blabbing about. Every conversation ended with a “I’m just like, yeah, yanno?” and Keith nodding despite either of them knowing anything.
They must’ve been in there for longer than they thought, because Shiro walked in to take them back on the ship. He paused before approaching them, and Lance realized how close him and Keith were. They were basically grinding, and Keith was chugging something orange. Lance had stopped drinking a while ago, afraid he would puke. Keith must be fucking wasted.
“You guys ready to head out of here?” Shiro yelled over the blaring music.
“Never!” Keith shouted and took another shot off a tray that happened to be floating by.
Shiro glared at him, then switched his gaze over to Lance, who’s immediate response was to blink blearily while explaining that he thought Keith was an alien.
Shiro probably didn’t understand a single word of the slurred gibberish exiting his lips, but he couldn’t stop.
When they did make it back to the castle, they stumbled through the doors chanting that dumb alien song that had been playing when they’d left. Pidge hurried to their room, grumbling about how tired they were of Lance’s shit. Hunk attempted to tell them goodnight before giving up and leaving them to wander in the halls alone. Shiro, Allura, and Coran had remained behind to confirm everything and tie up any loose ends with the leaders of the pretty planet.
Lance was on Keith’s back yelling things like “Tally-ho!” and “Onward!” and pointing in the general direction of his room every time he yelled, but it was taking them twice as long to reach the destination than it usually takes Lance. When Lance got bored of pointing, he started pulling the flimsy red sweater off of Keith’s shoulder and left sloppy kisses on the exposed skin. Keith laughed a little when Lance licked a certain spot on his neck because of the way his breath and tongue tickled him.
“I’m really drunk,” Lance said against Keith’s shoulder.
“I’m drunker,” Keith replied.
When they finally reached Lance’s room, Lance jumped off Keith’s back and stumbled on the floor to catch himself, arms flailing. He didn’t really remember how to open the door, but his fingers seemed to move by muscle memory as they repeated the sequence to allow their entrance. Lance entered first, plopping on his bed before removing everything except his boxers. Keith did the same before throwing himself on top of Lance. They were already half asleep with Keith asked, “Do you come here often?”
They both erupted into a burst of drunken cackling before Lance replied, “S’m'room, dumbass.”
When they woke up, neither said anything. They were both sporting well sized hangovers, and their current position under Lance’s covers wasn’t helping the state of their heads.
“Want to stay here and sleep all day?” Lance asked when he could finally open his eyes, voice sounding croaky.
“Sounds like a goddamn plan,” Keith replied and buried his face farther into Lance’s neck.
“You’re really pretty,” Lance blurted after a near hour of silently staring at Keith, thinking he might still be a little drunk.
Keith planted a kiss on his jawline. “Go the fuck back to sleep, Lance.”
Lily Evans does not consider herself one to believe in Fate. Things, she muses, happen because the world is always turning and people are always moving and one things leads to another and wars are started and tsunamis destroy towns and cars crash. Fate is a word for people who don’t want to take responsibility for their actions.
Mary would tell her she’s not enough of a romantic, but Lily thinks she’s a romantic where it counts. She believes in love, for one, and believes that some people are better suited for each other than others. The concept of soul mates, however, is much too similar to fate, and therefore Lily finds it hard not to scoff whenever someone mentions the term, as if the whole world has been revolving for the sole purpose of two people finding one another.
Yet, there’s something about the Potter boy. She doesn’t see him often - at family events or charity galas only - but she’s inexplicably drawn to him. He’s loud, and cocky, and not bad on the eyes, but plenty of boys are. Something about James Potter calls to something in Lily Evans, and the feeling is indescribable and, quite honestly, terrifying.
Lily Evans does not believe in Fate, but perhaps Fate has a plan for her.