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Pulling Pigtails

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Lance didn’t hate Keith. No, hate definitely wasn’t the right word. Actually -though he wouldn’t say it out loud- he held a sort of reluctant respect for his classmate. Part of that respect may have been stipend to Keith’s arm muscles that loved to make unexpected appearances in class whenever Keith decided to take off his jacket, but that was beside the point.

Lance supposed in all reality he couldn’t have much of an opinion on the guy. As much fun as bickering with Keith was, they could barely be considered more than acquaintances. After all, they didn’t sit together at lunch, or talk between classes, or interact at all outside of school unless a mutual friend roped them into a three-way hangout where both boys unspokenly agreed to stay on opposite sides of Shiro as to not spoil the get together with unnecessary arguing.

This arrangement of avoidance and only semi-annual quarrels seemed to work perfectly well for both boys. Lance was quite content with being annoyed by Keith from afar, where he could both admire Keith’s obnoxiously good looking body and glare at his stupidly attractive face without so much as a hint that he was doing so.

Unfortunately, that subpar relationship couldn’t stay that way for long, since their English teacher got a wild hair up her butt and decided to give both Lance and Keith detention for one of their little arguments that may have taken place directly in the middle of another student’s presentation.

Now, that wouldn’t have been too bad if Lance wasn’t an impulsive idiot that couldn’t stay still for more than two seconds. Mr. Seymour was an elderly man that always hosted detention on Saturdays and had a reputation for ‘going to get some food’ and then -without fail- falling asleep in his office with a ham sandwich precariously perched on his ever growing belly.

It wasn’t that part that Lance minded though. It was the insanely annoying way Keith twirled his pen. Because of course he couldn’t just spin the damn thing like normal people; he had to do the freaking pen twirling Olympics with his writing utensil.

And no, that really shouldn’t have agitated Lance the way it did, but he couldn’t help it. The act was incredibly distracting. And sure, Lance wasn’t actually studying like he was supposed to be, but he was very interested in the issue of Deadpool that was neatly hidden in his binder and it was becoming increasingly harder to concentrate when goddamn Hercules over there wouldn’t stop showing off.

“Would you knock it off?” He finally snapped, his gaze whipping across the room to the other boy.

The pen halted in its movements, elegantly twisting back into Keith’s palm as he glanced over his shoulder at Lance, partially lidded eyes suggesting just the slightest hint of annoyance accompanied by the overwhelmingly apparent want for Lance to shut up.

“Excuse me?” Keith’s voice rang out into the small classroom, filled with enough of a threatening tone that it almost made Lance want to crawl away and pretend he hadn’t said anything. Almost. But Lance had been around the block a few times with Keith, and though his classmate could be quite intimidating, Lance had learned to brush aside most of the guy’s aggression since –so far- he’d only been bluffing. Lance wasn’t sure he’d put physical violence beneath the guy, though.

“Stop twirling your pen. It’s distracting.” Lance said; holding eye-contact, purple-like irises burning into his own.

But to his surprise, Keith didn’t argue. He simply rolled his eyes and grumbled, “Fine, whatever.”

He moved his hand to paper, the pen stilling over the parchment as Keith clearly debated what to write down.

Lance couldn’t believe what had just happened. He’d given Keith a clear opening for bickering and he was tossed aside like an annoying little kid. To be fair, he wasn’t too different from an annoying little kid, but the point remained.

After that odd display of reluctant obedience, Lance found it hard not to stare at the other boy. Even harder than when the guy was doing pen gymnastics.

Lance noticed that Keith fidgeted. A lot. His leg was constantly bouncing under his desk, only to come to an abrupt stop when writing down an answer in his notebook. He also brushed a hand through his hair and let out a silent puff of air whenever a question was particularly challenging. He did that at least three times and each time Lance wanted to reach over and just comb his fingers through the sleek black hair. It looked soft.

Lance almost felt bad for the guy, he was wiggling so much. Lance could only assume the source was discomfort, but he never behaved that way in class. And Lance would know, it always pissed him off spectacularly when Keith clearly wasn’t paying attention and the teacher would call on him and he’d answer smoothly, like he was reading off a teleprompter. And then the asshole would go back to not even looking up from whatever book he was blatantly reading under his desk.

But now? Well, now Keith was acting like someone had a spotlight on him and was asking him to recite the first hundred digits of pi. (Hell, the guy might’ve been able to for all Lance knew.)

He apparently got so riled up that he had to take off his jacket just to cool down, hanging it over the back of his chair.

And there went any chances of Lance actually doing some of his homework, because Keith’s favorite kinds of shirts were tank-tops, and those neat little pieces of fabric just so happened to not have sleeves and that would most definitely be the bane of Lance’s existence.

After five minutes of not so discreetly ogling Keith’s arm muscles –that in Lance’s opinion were way too toned for a Sophomore- Keith finally turned around, his cheeks tinted red as he glared daggers at Lance.

“Would you stop staring at me?!” He barked, his arm over the back of his chair, hand clutching the edge with an almost white-knuckle grip.

Lance spluttered, incoherent defenses and denials tumbling out of his mouth as his face bloomed with heat. He couldn’t tell if he was angry at the accusation and harsh command to stop, or embarrassed that he’d been caught in the act.

He finally decided to just scowl down into his binder, choosing to ignore Keith all together.

The only problem was that he could feel Keith looking at him, his eyes boring into Lance’s back, sending shivers down his spine and anger into his gut. He wanted to tell the guy to knock it off, just like Keith had told him. To get a rise out of him and start one of their stupid arguments, but just as he was about to spit back a snide remark, he heard Keith shift in his chair, undoubtedly going back to his studying.

Lance’s opening had passed him by and to be perfectly honest, he was a little relieved. No need to have their yelling wake Mr. Seymour up across the hall and have them end up with another detention. No, baiting Keith wasn’t worth it.

That was until he glanced over his binder and saw the dick twirling his pen again, completely disregarding Lance’s earlier request. And that was it, the last straw.

And so, Lance really didn’t know what he was doing when he calmly set his binder down on his desk.

He couldn’t discern a single thought rushing through his head as he smoothly slid out of his chair.

He couldn’t control any of his limbs as he gracefully maneuvered the desks and quietly stepped behind Keith.

And he certainly didn’t know the intent of his actions when he snatched the pen right from Keith’s hand with such striking precision and speed that it took Keith a full three seconds to register that his pen was even gone.

The boy glowered up at him, “Give it back, Lance.”

Lance held the pen behind his back, jutting his chin out in defiance. “No, I asked you to stop twirling it and you didn’t. Now it’s mine.”

“You can’t just take my pen, dipwad.” Keith growled as he lunged forward, trying to reach around Lance and grab the utensil from behind him.

Lance was not above using his height to his advantage, quickly moving his hand over his head, waving the pen tauntingly with a smirk on his face that he wasn’t completely sure why he was wearing. Perhaps he just loved to torment Keith. “Well I just did, genius.”

“I swear, Lance, give it back or I’ll-“

“What?” Lance goaded, “Grow a few inches and actually be able to reach it?”

Keith hissed and pushed up against Lance, clawing at his jacket sleeve; forcing Lance’s arm down until he curled his hand around Lance’s and stole the pen away from him.

“Ha!” He gloated, shoving the pen safely into his pocket.

But Lance didn’t care about the pen anymore. He was too distracted by the bright purple splatter spread over Keith’s hand, which he seemed entirely oblivious to until his eyes drifted to Lance’s shocked face, and then to Lance’s hand that still hung in the air. His gaze slowly moved to his own hand, his expression starting to resemble Lance’s.

“Holy-“

“We’re-“

The door to the classroom swung open, a disheveled Mr. Seymour slouched in the doorway, his moustache filled with crumbs, a bright yellow mustard stain on his striped button-up shirt. Lance briefly wondered if he could make that same color appear on Keith’s skin from pure touch.

“You two need to keep it down.” Mr. Seymour said, his words slightly slurred as his bloodshot eyes took in Lance and Keith. “I’m trying to enjoy my sandwich.”

“Uh, yes, sorry, sir.” Lance stuttered, unsure of whether Mr. Seymour’s old cataract stricken eyes couldn’t see what was happening, or if he simply didn’t care.

Their teacher nodded firmly, a gruff grunt of approval leaving his mouth before he turned on his heels, closing the door behind him.

“Um,” Keith said, his eyes slowly rising to meet Lance’s, “what ju-“

Lance didn’t even have time to think as the reason why he’d stolen the stupid pen in the first place sprang to the forefront of his mind and he acted on instinct alone, surging forward and crashing his mouth against Keith’s.

Lance had known he was attracted to Keith from the moment he met him, but a crush? He never thought he had a crush on the guy, even though it was painfully obvious now. Stealing his pen was practically the equivalent of pulling a girl’s pigtails in kindergarten. God, he was such a blind idiot.

And to think, he could’ve been doing this earlier. Moving his lips with Keith’s; slotted together like puzzle pieces. He couldn’t believe he’d missed out on so much time! They’d been going to school together since the beginning of high school after all, and if he’d just done something other than arguing, he could’ve clocked hours more of Keith’s amazingly soft mouth.

When he finally pulled away, they were both panting, a smile playing at the corner of Keith’s purple, red, and blue colored mouth, something unfamiliar dancing in his eyes.

Lance liked Keith’s smile, especially when it was only for him.

“So, uh, I guess this means you don’t hate me.” Keith chuckled, hands still gripping Lance’s jacket.

“Yeah, I definitely don’t hate you.” And he leaned in to capture Keith's lips again. After all, he had a lot of lost time to make up for.