Chapter Text
Lance first notices it during training.
The Garrison had put together a top of the line training room on par with the one from the castle with help from Coran. There was even a shiny new gladiator to kick their asses. It was hilarious to watch the MFE Fighter team get swept and get a taste of the hell they'd gone through. Kinkade held his own pretty well though so Lance has to give him props.
The Garrison was rebuilding, as was the rest of the world and the paladin’s wounds and concussions had healed after their tangle with the mysterious murder robot and the Galra. In fact, right about now the Garrison were preparing to dredge that thing out of the sea.
Lance kind of just hoped they’d leave it with the fishes but Allura insisted that it needed to be studied. Lance could tell she was itching to get her hands on it, to figure out where it came from and how it ran.
And she wasn’t wrong. The threat of a future attack was always looming so the paladins and the rest of the Garrison were determined to be prepared.
Thus, the training room.
“Come on, Keith,” Lance whines, feeling like his arms were going to fall off, Bayard heavy in his hands. Today, it was just Team Voltron in the room, Keith announcing a surprise training session at the crack of dawn. “We’ve been training for like four hours…”
“Three hours, 42 minutes,” Pidge says, face down in the smooth Garrison floors. She threw in the towel at least an hour ago despite Keith's nagging. She refused to budge, fatigue and exhaustion rooting her to the floor.
Keith frowns, arms folded. “The training is important. We never know when the Galra or Haggar will come back and we need to be ready no matter what.” He snorts. “The Blade trains their recruits far harder than this.”
“Yeah but we’re not Galra,” Hunk wheezes, leaning heavily on his blaster (was that safe?). His hair stuck to his temples and his trademark headband had slipped down his forehead over one eye. “We’re just soft squishy humans, man.”
“Speak for yourself, Hunk,” Lance says with a sniff. “There is nothing squishy about me.”
“Ha!” Pidge laughs into the ground. Lance sticks a tongue out at her even if she can't see it. Rude.
“I handled it just fine,” Keith says, stone-faced and stern in a way that reminded Lance of Kolivan. Like he was trying to mimic his mentor.
“Yes,” Allura says, putting away her Bayard and looking far better than the rest of them, her skin dewy and not single white hair out of place. That stupidly strong Altean strength and endurance. “But you’re half Galra. Perhaps that grants you more stamina than your fellow humans?”
Keith blinks owlishly, brows furrowing as if he hadn’t thought of that.
Lance blinks at that too because that hadn’t even crossed his mind either. He just figured Keith was fueled by angst, justice and man pain. Mostly angst.
“No part of him even looks Galra,” Pidge says, picking her face up off the floor, chin resting on the cold metal. Her glasses look a little bent, smushed against her face as brown eyes glare up at Keith in defiance.
Allura purses her lips, eyes sparkling in thought. “Well, yes that is a little odd. But we don't know very much about-“
“Quit talking about me like I’m a science experiment,” Keith snaps, hitting the blade of his sword (the Bayard one) against the floor with a clang. “We only get time to train once a week. We have to take advantage of that!”
“Shiro never pushed us this hard…” Pidge mutters and Lance sucks a breath in through his teeth. Oh shit.
Keith goes rigid, expression going blank. There’s a moment of silence where Hunk just freezes like a rabbit in danger and Allura has a hand to her mouth. Pidge only manages to glare for a few seconds more before it seems to dawn on her too and she slides her glare away guiltily.
“Fine. That’ll be all for today,” Keith says, voice even but Lance can see the clench of his fingers and the way his shoulders slump. The stern command and confidence he channeled as leader crumbling all at once.
“Are you sure?” Hunk asks warily, glancing between Keith and the door.
“Yeah.” Keith turns away and walks over to the training floor console. “Dismissed.”
They all hesitate for a moment, Pidge in particular, before packing up their things and slowly heading for the door. More often than not they gave Keith room when he got in a funk like this, dragged down by the weight of mantle of leader passed on to him. They tried to avoid those kind of comments… but sometimes they would slip out. The comparisons to Shiro. He’d certainly grown a lot during his time with the Marmora, living on a time whale and junk, but Lance could still see a little bit of that angry teenager, furious and indignant over the decision of the Black Lion.
They were big shoes to fill.
And it wasn’t like Keith was wrong... The Galra were coming. They did need more training. When Lance lunged at Zethrid back when she was threatening to torture Pidge he was smacked away like a limp ragdoll in just seconds. Kind of embarrassing really.
At one point when Lance doubted himself and his position in the team, Keith was there for him in his own awkward way… and Keith was now in a similar position, faced with the daunting task of fulfilling the role as their leader. And he's really trying his best.
So, Lance lingers.
“What?” Keith growls, not looking away from the console.
“Um well… I was thinking…” Lance shuffles, rubbing at his sweaty neck. God his arms hurt. “Maybe I could use some more training… with the sword. And you know… uh since you’re kinda the pro at the sword thing I was just thinking…”
“You don’t have to stick around, Lance,” Keith says flatly.
“No really!” Lance exclaims. “It could really help me out!”
There is a moment where Lance is just staring worriedly at the back of Keith's bare neck, his mullet pulled back (which is a good look actually, 9/10 from Lance). He expects Keith to shut him out and storm off...
Keith turns, his eyes guarded but with a glimmer of soft hope that makes a funny bubbly feeling bloom in Lance's chest, like the gentle fizz of soda. Lance beams, suddenly extremely glad he stuck around. Keith's lips twitch upward into something a little less grim and the feeling makes Lance feel lighter than air. He did that. He made Keith smile, even just a little.
“Really?” Keith asks.
“Yeah! I haven’t had as much practice with it.” He waves his sword around haphazardly, suddenly full of renewed energy. “So… maybe some sparring? The Gladiator just isn’t the same.”
“Sure.” And now Keith is grinning and Lance gives a mental fist pump at successfully cheering up Keith... Although the other paladin's grin is more of a sharkish smirk… “Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
Lance’s arms are already screaming in protest but he just laughs and readies his Bayard. “I can take it,” he scoffs. “Bring it on mullet man!”
…
Another hour later Lance wonders if he could just… throw his arms away. They will never be the same with the shuddering aches and pains radiating from shoulder to fingertip. Honestly, they feel like they’ll just pop off.
Lance groans and winces as their blades clash again. He’s going to feel this training for a week.
Still, he hangs on, parrying away Keith’s blows, swords crashing and glancing off each other. Keith is relentless, pressing forward, purple eyes laser-focused on Lance. He’s managed to fend him off but too late Lance realizes he’s been backed into a wall, shoulder blades bumping into the cold metal behind.
“Now what?” Keith says, seriously, sword leveled at Lance. “You’ve let me back you into a corner. Your options are limited because you let me control the flow of the fight.”
Lance chuckles breathlessly, face hot. “Well not like I’ve ever been the dominant one.”
Keith blinks, thick dark brows going up in surprise.
“In a fight!” Lance adds, realizing that might have come out somewhat suggestive. “I-I’m more of a chill, go with the flow go kind of guy ya know?”
“R-right,” Keith says, clearing his throat, clearly embarrassed, and Lance blinks as an idea comes over him. A devious idea and he just can’t help himself.
He leans in, one finger gently tapping the tip of the blade at his chest and grins Cheshire wide. He flutters his lashes. “But if it was you I’d let you dominate me anytime~”
Keith makes a funny choking sound, ears going pink and his grip goes lax...
“Ha!” Lance cheers triumphantly, knocking the blade from Keith’s hand. He points his sword at Keith, arms trembling and heart pounding. “How do you like that? Maybe I could just flirt my way ou-”
His moment of triumph and gloating is cut short in a flash when a hand grabs him by the collar, knocks his Bayard away and then Lance is splayed on the floor, head spinning and wondering what the hell just happened.
Keith just threw him on the floor like he weighed nothing.
Lance is about to protest, ask what the hell is wrong with Keith and why can't take a joke when all verbal functions die somewhere in his throat.
The red paladin hovers over him, one hand by his head and the other still fisted in his shirt. His thick bangs shade his forehead, the glow of his eyes-
Hang on. Lance blinks because he’s pretty sure that Keith’s eyes are actually glowing, like a literal glow stick, the whites of his eyes bleeding yellow and the look is decidedly… primal. It is a familiar pair of eyes but not on Keith.
“Don’t,” Keith begins seriously, glaring down at Lance. “Don’t ever do that in a fight. You’ll get yourself killed.”
Lance opens his mouth, but he doesn’t know what to say. Does Keith know his eyes can do that? Did everyone know that and Lance just missed that little tidbit of info? He licks his lips and his heart thuds when he sees Keith’s sharp eyes track the sweep of his tongue, like a predator tracking the scurrying of its prey.
“I-It was just a joke,” he laughs weakly, finally finding his voice. It's hard to think when Keith has a knee between his legs, the top of his thigh brushing his crotch, and Lance is fascinated by the heated gold eyes, fine lashes and muscled shoulders over him an-
“I think that’s enough for today,” Keith says suddenly, dropping Lance’s collar and pulls away, leaving Lance feeling kind of exposed and bare on the floor. “Good job.”
“Th-thanks,” Lance says absently, sitting up, heart pounding and stomach fluttering like a net of butterflies.
“You okay?”
He rubs at the back of his head and looks up at Keith. His eyes are as they usually are, irises dark against the bright whites of his eyes. Human. He isn't looking at Lance though, focusing on the toe of his boot, expression unreadable.
“Yeah…” He starts and then glares at Keith. “Must have just hit my head, you jerk! I can’t believe you just…”
From there it ends up in one of their usual arguments, the two of them bickering and quipping at each other as they collect their things to head out, squabbling all the way down the hall.
By dinner time, happily enjoying Hunk’s cooking, Lance has totally dismissed what he saw as some weird trick of the light or the rattling his brain took. Or maybe the exhaustion of training.
Because… well, there was no way he actually saw Galra eyes on Keith, right?
… Right?