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Shut Up and Dance With Me

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“Okay, but we should totally look into auditioning as a group.”

“Lance,” Pidge says flatly, in a tone that’s equal parts exasperated and fond. “You just learned how to dance with someone else. Do you really think jumping into group choreography is a good idea?”

Lance scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I could handle it.”

“Yeah, but I’m not sure we could handle you.”

“Now that’s just rude. You guys love me.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re easy to work with, buddy.” Hunk says, apologetic and kind. A hand reaches over to pat him, but it’s a blind reach at an awkward angle, so fingers just end up groping and brushing at his shoulder and the side of his face.

“Keith can work with me,” He tilts his head back as far as he can to look up at the boy in question. “Right, babe?” He tries to hit him with the pouty lip and the big, watery eyes, but Keith isn’t looking at him. His head remains turned to the side, eyes fixed on Pidge’s computer screen. He does, however, catch the slightly quirk at the corner of Keith’s lips. It’s just enough to lift his entire expression.

“Just because I can doesn’t mean it’s easy,” He says, but unlike Pidge, his voice is perhaps one part flat amusement and two parts fondness.

“Oh, stuff it, mullet.” Lance reaches up behind him to idly swat at Keith’s head, catching at his hair.

Keith doesn’t even look as he reaches up to push his hand away. “Keep calling me that, and I’m gonna shave it.”

It’s an empty threat, and they both know it. Keith likes his hair like it is, and he knows that Lance does, too. He loves getting it tugged, and Lance loves running his fingers through it. Still, that doesn’t stop him from threatening to cut it frequently, just as it doesn’t stop Lance from reacting to the threat.

Lance gasps loudly, voice rising. “Don’t you dare.”

“I dunno how you do it, dude,” Hunk says with a shake of his head, patting Keith on the shoulder.

“Someone has to,” Keith says gravely.

Lance makes an indignant sound, but his protest dies on his tongue as Keith reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair. The movements are slow and methodical, idle and familiar in the way his blunt nails scratch as Lance’s scalp, moving through the short strands with practiced ease.

He relaxes instantly, slouching just a little further. He can feel Keith’s chest shake with silent laughter, but he opts to ignore it in favor of tilting his chin up, nuzzling into Keith’s hand. He can laugh all he wants. Point is, it feels good. He lets his eyes fall closed as he sighs softly.

“I’m proud of you for teaching him how to play nice with others,” Pidge says. “But I’m not sure he’s ready for that big of a group.”

Lance reaches out blindly, to shove their shoulder. “Okay, but seriously,” He says, opening his eyes. He turns slightly to gesture to Pidge’s laptop screen. YouTube is pulled up, and the music video for Handclap is playing. “Just image all of us dancing to this. Shiro and Allura can be in the center, and all of us can be the dancers around them. All wearing morphsuits and shit. We can even get Matt in on it!”

Pidge snorts. “Now I know you’re joking. Despite being a DJ, Matt surprisingly has two left feet, no balance, and zero rhythm.”

Lance just grins. “True, but he’d definitely have fun with it.”

“And we’d have a fun time watching,” Hunk adds.

“Maybe another time,” Pidge hums. “Definitely not for regionals.”

“No fun,” Lance says, crossing his arms over his chest again. He leans his head back, closing his eyes once more and absorbing himself in the feeling of Keith’s fingers carding through his hair. “No sense of adventure.”

“Guess I’ll have you all to myself for at least another year.” Keith drawls. Lance can tell he’s aiming for a dry monotone, but it’s lifting at the edges. “Whatever shall I do?”

“Thanks for taking one for the team, buddy.” Hunk says, and Lance feels Keith shake slightly as Hunk pats his shoulder.

He just snorts, but keeps his eyes closed.

They’re sitting on the floor of Pidge and Hunk’s usual practice room. Keith and Hunk sit back to back, leaning against each other for support. Pidge sits between them, leaning back against them both with their laptop propped up in their lap. Keith’s knees are pulled up and his legs spread just far enough for Lance to sit between them, leaning back against his chest, legs stretched out in front of them.

It’s comfortable. It’s cozy. It’s incredibly natural.

Lance finds it hard to believe there was ever a time where Keith wasn’t part of their little group. He’s become so closely integrated to the point where memories of their time before Keith seem distant and surreal.

They continue to click through YouTube, sometimes staying on a song for minutes and other times staying for only seconds.

As it turns out, Keith is actually very insightful when it comes to shuffling through songs. He knows Pidge and Hunk’s styles by now, the things they can do together, and he has an eye and imagination for the direction choreography can go just by listening to songs.

He’s going to go far one day. He’s talented and passionate, and he has a drive that will take him places.

Once upon a time, that thought might have ignited sour embers of jealousy. Now he only feels pride.

“What about this one?” Pidge asks as a new song starts up.

Lance cracks his eyes open and tilts his head back. He can see the slight pinch to Keith’s brow as he stares at the screen, lips pursing and relaxing as he thinks. His fingers continue to move through Lance’s hair, but the rhythm and movements adjust to each song that plays.

It’s still a scowl, but it’s his concentrated scowl. A thoughtful one. And Lance can practically see the gears working behind his eyes, minut flickers as he watches a dance unfold in his mind’s eye.

It’s cute. Really cute.

They’ve been dating for nearly a year, and Lance still feels the tightness in his chest and the fluttering in his stomach.

He’s still pretty sure Keith is bad for his health, but he’s not dead yet, and at least if he does die, he’ll die happy.

Finally, Keith shakes his head. A quick, sharp gesture that has his hair shifting over his forehead. “No, you can find a better one.”

Pidge tilts their head. “You sure?”

Keith nods, decisive. “Yeah. It’s good, and you guys could definitely do it, but there aren’t enough opportunities for your...” He trails off, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “Quick stuff. The strength in your style is the quick steps combined with the slow, more basic playful moments. This song doesn’t give you enough opportunities to show that.”

“Gotta be flashy for auditions if you wanna get to regionals,” Lance says, closing his eyes once more and leaning his head back against Keith’s shoulder. His lips quirk into a small smirk. “And you gotta get into regionals so we can kick your asses.”

“I hope we all make it this year.” Hunk says, almost wistful.

“We will,” Lance says at the same time Keith and Pidge do. They all glance at each other, exchanging grins.

“We’re all getting in, but Keith and I are still gonna kick your asses. Gonna knock Shiro and Allura off their pedestal, too.”

Pidge snorts. “Good luck with that.”

“Hey, they may have synergy, but we have chemistry.” He says, dropping his voice to a low purr.

Keith’s sharp exhale serves as a short laugh. “And you think they don’t have chemistry?”

Lance shrugs. “They’re like setting fire to magnesium. Pretty and bright. But we’re like setting thermite on fire. Explosive. Chaotic. Bright. Hot. Intense.” He leans his head back, catching Keith’s eye and waggling his eyebrows. “Passionate.”

Keith struggles to keep his smirk down, but it’s a losing battle. They both know it. It’s cute that he still attempts to hide his amusement after all this time. Says it feeds his ego, or some nonsense like that. Lance just sees it as a challenge, and every laugh he can get out of Keith feels like a victory.

“Keep your passion in your pants, casanova,” Pidge says dryly.

Lance straightens a little, smirk widening and words getting rhythmic as he says, “But I ain’t afraid to show it...”

“Show it, show it...” Hunk immediately echoes, under his breath but still audible.

There’s a pause before they both burst out, “I’m sexy and I know it.

Pidge groans, and Keith heaves a heavy sigh, chest rising and falling dramatically. But when Lance glances up, he can see the way Keith’s eyes are crinkling at the edges.

“Okay, but seriously, how do you even know about magnesium and thermite reactions?” Hunk asks.

“Hunk, please, I paid attention during chemistry.”

“I sat next to you during chemistry. You drew comics about moles the whole time.”

“We binge watched Mythbusters over the weekend,” Keith says, fingers moving through Lance’s hair again. “Then we started looking up different chemical reactions and explosions that we could do at home.”

“Um... do I wanna know?”

Lance feels Keith shrug. “Probably not.”

“If you guys are gonna start setting off explosions, you better invite me.” Pidge says, idly scrolling through their playlist.

“Wouldn’t dream of leaving you out, pidgeon.” Lance holds out a fist, and Pidge bumps it without looking.

They spend the next ten minutes shuffling through songs. Pidge and Hunk pull up songs they feel a connection to, and Keith gives his input. Lance, also, provides input, but it’s not always as appreciated. None of them seem to care what memories and associations he has with particular songs. They do, however, appreciate when he remembers what songs have been done before.

When his phone alarm goes off, Lance pushes himself to his feet, pulling Keith up after him.

“Later, nerds,” He says as he swings his bag over his shoulder, striding across the room. “We’ve got our own song to choose.”

“Try not to take months to do it this time,” Hunk calls after them.

“And try not to argue loudly about it, either. Or we’ll cut your power again,” Pidge adds.

He spins on his heel, walking backwards a couple steps to stick his tongue out at them. Keith doesn’t turn, but he does hold up one hand, flipping them off over his shoulder. He catches Lance’s eye, smirk small on his lips. Lance laughs as he spins, stepping out into the hallway.

He throws an arm lazily over Keith’s shoulders, leaning slightly into him as they walk. Keith doesn’t react as it happens, nothing save for a small curve of his lips. One hand in his pocket, he flips through his phone with the other. They climb the stairs to the fourth floor in easy silence, with nothing but Lance’s soft humming to fill the space.

As much as he loves talking with Keith, he’s found peace in the silence. There’s something calming about being able to be still. To stop moving. To just let himself relax.

He’s spent his whole life moving. Dancing. Fighting. Moving forward. Searching. Restless. Grasping for more. Never content.

But with Keith, he’s able to simply... stop. To hear the music in the silence. To feel the peace in the moments of stillness. With Keith, he doesn’t need to fill the void. He doesn’t need to keep reaching. He’s just… happy.

He doesn’t need to move when he’s content with how Keith holds him steady.

He throws the door to room 4D open wide, pulling away from Keith to spin his way to the center of the room, using his momentum to fling his bag to the floor, letting it slide over to bump harmlessly into the mirror. He strikes a pose, leaning to one side on a bent knee, other leg stretched out behind him and pointed, head bowed, one hand covering his face while his other gestures to the door.

He hears a snort of amusement and a flick of the lightswitch. A second later, the fluorescent lights buzz to life.

“Camera!” He spins into another pose, standing up a little straighter, pointing to the corner of the ceiling where the security camera is mounted.

He spins around, pointing to Keith. He freezes mid step, eyes widening for a second in his surprise.

Lance smirks, tilting his chin down a fraction and quirking a finger at him as he purrs, “Action.

Keith snorts again, rolling his eyes as he starts walking again. “You are such a dork.”

“But I’m your dork, babe.”

“Lucky me,” Keith says dryly, dropping his bag by Lance’s and moving to where the auxiliary cable waits. He grabs it, plugging it into his phone.

Lance siddles up behind him, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and hooking his chin over his shoulder. Keith relaxes into his hold instantly, still flipping through his phone to pull up his music. “You sure you’re okay with this?” He asks, voice soft.

“I told you that we’d try it your way this time, didn’t I?” He pulls Lance’s bluetooth remote out of his pocket, taking a moment to sync it up with his phone before setting it down on the table. He turns then, twisting in Lance’s arms.

“Just making sure,” Lance mumbles, smile on his lips.

Keith rests one hand on his chest, holding up the remote between them like an offering. There’s a small smirk on his lips. “Would you like to have the honors?”

“Of course,” Lance plucks the remote from his grip, hitting play and leaning in to press a quick and fleeting kiss to Keith’s lips. “Just follow my lead.” He says, voice a whisper and smirk playful as he pulls away, catching Keith’s fingers lightly in his own and tugging him toward the center of the room.

He spins Keith into him, until his arm is wrapped around him and Keith’s back presses up against his chest. They share a knowing smile before Lance steps away and spins him out. Their fingers slip apart and Keith steps away, a fluidity in his movements.


“I know, I know,” Keith says, rolling his eyes as he spins on his heel, arms coming up close to his chest. “Let you know if I feel it.”

Lance grins. “Now you’re catching on.”

Lance has gone through this process hundreds of times before. Sometimes to find a song, sometimes for fun, sometimes to simply let go and turn his brain off for a while. It’s his time to zone out. To really just let it go. To let himself feel without bothering to think.

It’s always felt like freedom.

He always thought it would be a process that would be best done alone. What he’s finding, however, is that dancing like this with Keith is better than anything he could have imagined.

He’s gotten a lot more comfortable in his own skin, less affected by watching eyes. He even dances with them at the park now, and he has fun doing it. Lance will gladly take the credit for it, and whenever he sees Keith dancing in front of others with little to no preparation, he feels a white hot burst of pride shoot through him and settle warm in his gut.

They move around the room, two satellites revolving around one another. They come together, touches fleeting, smiles playful. They grab hands, using their own momentum to move past the other, to move each other. They roll with each other’s guidance, seamlessly passing the lead from one to the other. Hands trail along shoulders, sliding down arms before slipping away. They come in close, embracing each other’s space, bodies coming close before the momentum shifts, flinging them apart once more.

It’s playful. Teasing. Fleeting. No matter how often they move apart, they’re always drawn back to one another. Magnets never fully free of the other’s pull.

He doesn’t count the seconds before changing the song. He’s done this enough that he just knows when it’s time. Just long enough to get a feel for it. Just long enough to know that the feeling isn’t quite right. He trusts his gut. It’s gotten him this far. And he trusts Keith will speak up if he thinks a song deserves a little more inspection. As it stands, however, Keith seems content to trust Lance’s decisions whenever he skips to the next song.

Lance closes his eyes, lets the music simply roll through him, lets it pull at his strings and move him along. Despite letting himself go, he’s aware of his space. Aware of where he is in relation to the room. He can hear Keith moving around him. He doesn’t need to open his eyes to see where he is, to find where Keith is stepping around him. But he does it anyway.

He lets his gaze linger on Keith’s form, the way his body moves. He’s graceful but powerful. A threat and strength rolling and shifting beneath the fluidity of his movements.

It’s incredibly fascinating.

It’s incredibly hot.

Lance finds his gaze lingering longer than necessary, head staying turned toward him even as he moves, like a compass facing north. Drawn to him. Transfixed.

Keith catches his eye on occasion, but Lance doesn’t try to hide his stares. Nor does Keith look particularly put out by it. There’s no hesitation. He’s not self conscious. If anything, his smile turns sly. His movements turn just a fraction more suggestive. It’s nothing overtly obvious. Just a little more fluid here, a little more of a bend there, an extra body roll.

It sets Lance’s blood on fire and his heart into overdrive.

There’s a challenge in Keith’s eye, a playfulness in his smirk.

And really, when has Lance ever been able to turn down a challenge?

He turns up the volume on his own movements, becoming more in tuned with his body, pulling out all the little tricks and stops that he knows Keith likes. All the things he’s learned drive Keith crazy. All the movements that have often caused Keith to stare, eyes glazed and jaw dropped. Typically right before he surges forward and pulls Lance to him.

And judging from the look on Keith’s face, it’s working.

They stop the playful touches, but they move further into each other’s space. Together and then away. Never fully touching, but leaning in all the same. Eyes dragging and lingering. Breath hot in the space between them. It leaves goosebumps on Lance’s skin, hypersensitive and aching for touch.

He can see Keith go through a similar struggle. Can see it in his eyes. In the way his fingers flex. In the tension in his shoulders when they pull apart.

Neither of them give in, and Lance knows neither of them will.

It’s a game, and they both play to win.

They’ll pull the tension. They’ll stretch the moment. They’ll build it and build it until they both snap. They’ll go until they got get tugged together by a force neither of them can control, unsure of who moves first.

They’ve just come together, lips nearly touching, hands held behind their backs, before they spin away, giving each other room to breathe. It had been difficult to let him go that time, and Lance knows he’s close to cracking. He can tell Keith is, too. There’s an energy about him, vibrating between them, sparking and crackling. It’s how he looks at him, violent eyes dark and hungry.

They haven’t found a song for auditions yet, but Lance has stopped paying attention.

That is, until he changes the song and a familiar word belts out, held and cracking as low piano notes accompany the lyrics.

”Hooooold. Hold on.”

Lance’s rhythm stutters to a stop. He usually has a pause between songs, a stretched moment while his momentum finds the new beat and the new pace. This is different. He stops.

”Hold onto me.”

He spins on his heel, eyes widening just a fraction, small genuine smile tugging at his lips. Keith has stopped, too. He’s starting toward the front of the room, aimed a little upwards, expression blank and lips parted. Then he catches sight of Lance in the mirror, and his head turns slowly until their eyes lock.

”Cause I’m a little unsteady.”

Lance’s smile widens for just a moment before it softens. “This song takes us back.”

Keith’s lips twitch, a gentle roll of his eyes. “Yeah, back when you were insufferable.”

He doesn’t know who moves first, but they’re moving toward each other, slow and fluid steps, unrushed, unhurried, coming to a stop only a foot apart.

A little unsteady.

“You mean back when you were trying to hide how much you wanted to kiss me?” He tilts his head a little to the side, leaning in, hands in his pockets.

Keith smirks, arms crossed over his chest. “It was a constant struggle between wanting to punch you and kiss you.”

“I’m glad kissing won.”

“Me, too.”

”Hooooold. Hold on.”

Lance reaches up, knuckles of his fingers brushing along Keith’s cheekbone. God, he loves those cheekbones. Loves it even more when Keith leans into the touch, lashes fluttering just slightly. “Think you remember the dance they taught us?” He asks, voice pitched low, soft. He aims for teasing and ends up with fond.

There’s a spark in Keith’s eyes, an amused tilt to his lips. “Of course, I do.”

Hold onto me.”

Lance chuckles, low and breathy. “Someone’s cocky.”

“Try me.”

“I’d love to.” He slips the bluetooth remote into his pocket, both hands going to Keith’s, holding them between them. He lifts them up, bowing his head to brush his lips against his knuckles. “Just try to keep up.”

Keith’s voice matches his, low and teasing, breathless and ragged along the edges. “Try not to drop me.”

”Cause I’m a little unsteady.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

”A little unsteady...”

At the next heavy downbeat, they break apart. Pushing off each other’s hands, slipping from each other’s grip, they tear away, bodies ripping, staggering, stumbling. They aren’t close enough to the walls to lean against them, but they make do. Lance drags his feet, arms heavy, head hanging. He moves as if weights hang off of him, off his limbs and his heart.

This particular dance requires a very specific mindset, an emotional show, a story told through gestures and expressions. Exactly the sort of thing that Shiro and Allura do, and exactly the sort of thing they would teach them. They had managed to learn the dance before he broke his leg, and they had touched up their knowledge of it a couple times since he healed. But they haven’t touched it in months.

But it all comes back to him instantly. The music clicking into place in his head, putting him in the right headspace for the dance. For the story. His body goes through the movements, heavy and tortured, heart torn and full and chaotic.

Unsteady, in body, heart, and mind.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Keith doing the same, going through his own motions, seamlessly slipping into character.

He thinks Shiro and Allura would be proud of them. Maybe they should perform for their friends at some point. Show them how much they’ve learned. But not now. Right here, right now, this is for them. Him and Keith.

They turn toward each other as the music builds, and Lance puts a hand to Keith’s chest to stop his momentum, slipping one behind to support his back as Keith’s torso rolls like he’s shoving him. He leans back into Lance’s hold before they move back up, his arms going around Lance’s neck as Lance uses one arm to lift and roll him over his own body.

They turn around, Keith’s feet back on the ground, hands hands on Lance’s head, fingers in his hair. Lance buries his face in Keith’s neck, running his nose over the collum of his throat, taking a moment to inhale deeply. He smells like sweat, the spice of his deodorant, and that odd indescribable scent that Lance has just associated with Keith. It sends fire through his veins, especially when Keith tilts his head back to accommodate the movements, breath hitching in his throat at Lance’s touch.

Lance’s hands slide down his sides, digging into his hips as he pushes him away. A beat passes and then their arms shoot out, grabbing each other by the forearm as they both lean back, lowering themselves with bent knees.

Then they’re standing back up, Keith guiding Lance around until his back is to his chest. Keith’s hands slide beneath his arms, lifting him up, setting him down, leaning over him. They roll away from each other, pulling away only to reach a tension and springing back, coming together once again.

Lance catches Keith beneath the arms as he falls, lifting him back up. Keith’s back ends up against his chest, and Lance buries his face in the crook of his neck, eyes fluttering closed. One of Keith’s hands finds its way into his hair. Lance’s hands slide down Keith’s body.

All too soon, he’s pushing Keith away into a spin. Their eyes lock, dark with emotion, chaotic and heavy. LIps parted. Chests heaving with each breath.

Then Keith’s back is to him, arms out, knees bent, and Lance is running at him. He leaps onto his back, knees bent, spinning around him slowly and controlled as Keith straightens. Keith lowers him to the ground slowly, hands gentle and firm on his neck, leaving trails of fire.

Their foreheads touch for just a moment, and Lance feels heat surge through him. He can feel Keith’s breath on his lips. He can feel the need and the reluctance as Keith’s hands slip away, the desire to hold on. He knows it has little to do with the dance and everything to do with wanting to pull him closer. Lance feels it, too.

They go through the motions of the dance. It’s a push and pull. An uncontrollable need to be closer. A decision to push away. An inability to stay away. A torn and tortured heart. Body heavy with indecision. They come together. They tear away. Their touches are lingering, breaths heavy. Throughout it all, they support each other, pulling each other up when they fall, lifting one another, never letting the other stay down.

It’s a lot like them, Lance thinks. A story of what they once were. He’s able to exist in it, to pull at that emotion and let it tug at his heart. He’s able to simply exist in that moment because he knows that when the song is over and their dance is done, he and Keith are no longer unsteady.

They’re stable. Together. Happy.

He’s proud of how far they’ve come. He’s proud of Keith. He’s proud of himself.

As the song trails to it’s end, they’re left holding each other, Lance’s arms around Keith’s neck, Keith’s around Lance’s waist. Keith lifts him just enough so his feet dance, turning them in a slow circle before setting him back on the ground. Their heads rest against one another, temples touching, chins hooked over each other’s shoulders.

He can feel Keith’s chest heaving against his own, his breath brushing past the hair around his ear. Lance closes his eyes as their bodies rock together. Lets the moment wash over him. Simply takes it in. Focuses on every hard plane and soft angle of Keith’s body pressed against him. Like he’s done a hundred times before, yet it always manages to surprise him, put him in a state of awe. He always manages to find something new he adores, something he seems to have forgotten, a constant reminder of just how much he loves the feeling of Keith.

Of just how much he loves Keith.

The song changes, something more upbeat starts up, but they stay like that. Clinging to one another. Gently rocking. Keith’s arms tighten just a fraction, and Lance nuzzles a little deeper into the curve of his neck. His heartbeat is heavy against his ribs, but he thinks if he concentrates hard enough, he can feel Keith’s pounding, too. As if they were reaching for each other, desperate to sync up.

After a long moment, Lance pulls back, arms slipping from around his neck to slide into the space between them. Keith reacts to the movement, pulling his head back to look at him. Lance doesn’t let him go far. His hands catch on the back of Keith’s neck, fingers rising up to tangle into the long strands there. They move up, palms cupping Keith’s jaw, thumbs brushing gently over his sharp cheekbones.

Lance tilts his head a fraction and smiles, feeling his eyes go half-lidded as his gaze flickers down to Keith’s lips. They’re beautiful. Pouty. Pink. Slightly chapped because the guy doesn’t know how to take care of his skin. Lance loves them all the same. Wants to feel them. So he does.

He leans forward, tugging Keith to him, tilting his chin up to capture his lips. Keith moves into him easily, leaning up, pushing their bodies together. It’s just a slight difference, one that’s barely visible, but one that Lance can feel all the same. And it feels like Keith’s melting into him, melding them together, as eager as Lance is to simply be close.

Fingers curl into the back of Lance’s shirt as he licks the seam of Keith’s lips, as that pouty mouth opens for him, letting Lance in before his tongue is pushing back. It’s an easy give. A push and pull. A rhythm that they know and have mastered. It’s a song that they both know by heart. A rhythm that starts out gentle and sweet, tender and soft, with each touch reverent and light.

It’s a song that builds to the chorus, with touches getting firmer, more insistent, more needy. Desperate for more. Hungry for more. It’s a song that stretches the tension. A song that stokes the embers until they reach a burning flame by the time the chorus drops, bright and wild and passionate.

There’s a pounding bass echoing through the room, vibrating through the floors. Lyrics that are quick and rhythmic. There’s a lifting melody, one that drives forward relentlessly, but Lance barely hears it. He’s too attuned to their own song.

It’s slow, melding, building. It’s in the way Keith’s hands slip beneath the hem of his shirt. In the way blunt nails dig into his back. It’s in the way one of Lance’s hands slides back into Keith’s hair, fingers tangling in the strands before tightening, tugging, not hard enough to heard but enough to sting. It’s in the way Keith gasps, the sound cut off as Lance pushes his tongue past Keith’s lips once more. In the way his other hand slides down Keith’s side, resting at the curve of his waist, thumb slipping beneath the hem of his shirt to stroke over his hip bone.

Lance tugs at his hair again, a wave of heat rolling through him at the low groan that catches in Keith’s throat. Keith breaks away, turning his head to breathe, tilting his head in a way that exposes his neck. It’s an offering. It’s a plea. Lance’s lips drag down his jaw, nipping along the curve of it before sliding down to his neck. He trails open mouthed kisses down his neck, out so the fabric of his shirt before dragging his teeth back up his neck, light and teasing.

He stops when he reaches Keith’s ear, letting his breath wash over him in a way he knows drives Keith crazy. He’s rewarded when he feels Keith’s back arch, pushing their hips closer together, his hands digging more into Lance’s back as his body seems to slump against him, wound tight but unable to stand on his own.

Lance smirks, pressing it to the hollow beneath Keith’s ear so he can feel it. “Remember that thing we talked about?” He asks, voice pitched low, words spoken slow and deliberate. He can feel the goosebumps rising on Keith’s skin.

“Hmm?” He hums, vibrations low in his throat. It’s distant, distract, and that in and of itself is a victory.

“About christening this room.” Lance rolls his hips, hand slipping around to rest flat against Keith’s lower back, fingers splayed wide, supporting him as he feels Keith’s knees shake. “Officially.”

Keith’s hands slide higher up his back, clutching at his shoulder blades as Lance slips a thigh between Keith’s. “We agreed it would be too risky.” He says it sternly, but his voice is breathy, and it poses the statement more like a question.

Lance bites at his neck, playful and just hard enough to hear his breath hitch before pressing a kiss to the spot, lips moving against his skin as he speaks, “Some things are worth the risk.”

Before Keith can protest further, Lance lifts his head, pressing his lips down to Keith’s. Plump. Chapped. Soft. Perfect.

Keith’s back arches just a fraction more, just enough that has his head tilting up, to the side, sweetening their angle and pressing into the kiss. When Lance’s tongue sweeps across Keith’s lips, they part without hesitation, so insistently that Lance has to wonder if Keith had been craving this exact touch or if he just knows when Lance is about to go for it himself.

Maybe they’re just in sync enough that it doesn’t matter who wants it first. It doesn’t matter if Lance was the first to press forward because Keith is right there pressing back. His tongue finds Lance’s, hungry and demanding. Teeth sink into his bottom lip, tugging playfully until Lance chases after him. A push and pull. A give and take.

Their breaths are hot and heavy between them, half gasps and sharp exhales through their noses, whistling across cheeks. Keith’s fingers curl into the back of Lance’s shirt, and Lance rolls his hips, loving the deep sound that rumbles out of the back of Keith’s throat and hands grabbing at his hips, encouraging him to follow the motion.

Lance,” Keith groans, but it’s not a pleasured one, nor is it a blissful one. It’s one of frustration, but Lance knows the stages of Keith’s frustration to know that it’s not aimed at him. Not really.

Lance hums his question, and when Keith tilts his head back, Lance trails his lips down to press them to the hollow beneath his jaw. He feels the shudder run through Keith beneath his hands.

“The camera.” Hands tug at the back of Lance’s shirt but seem stuck between pulling him away and pulling him closer.

“What about it?” His voice is a deep rumble as his lips move against Keith’s skin. He asks it before he really hears the question. It sinks in slowly, drifting lazily down before settling in, and he turns the words over in his head again and again until--

Oh. The camera.


That’s a thing.

“Pidge’s gonna kill us if we ask them to delete shit again.”

And that is a true statement.

He slumps against Keith, and the sudden change would have knocked him off balance if Lance hadn’t been holding him up. His arms sag, dragging his hands loosely down Keith’s body as his head falls to Keith’s shoulder. “Mmmm, true.”

Keith’s grip on his shirt loosens, but he doesn’t let go. Nor does he move away. He remains plastered to Lance, front to front, legs slotted together and chests pressed tight, and fuck, does Lance want this. He really, really fucking wants this. And worse? He knows Keith wants it, too.

But that damn camera.

He lifts his head, eyes narrowing at the dangling camera in the corner.

He disentangles himself from Keith slowly, giving him plenty of time to readjust his balance as Lance pulls away. He lets him go, hesitant, watching him with brows furrowed and lips pressed into a small frown.

Lance glances sideways at him as he passed, letting the edges of his lips curl into a small smirk as he winked. It only made Keith’s frown deepen, and Lance had to bite back a laugh.

He moves away from Keith, walking toward the corner with the camera. He reaches behind him, grabbing his shirt and tugging it over his head. He stops beneath the camera, weighs the shirt in his hand, and eyed the distance. He rears back and tosses--

It misses and falls to the floor.

Second try--

It catches for a second, and Lance holds his breath, but then it slips off and falls. He catches it and tries again.

This time it sticks, hanging over the camera lens.

He pumps a fist into the air, a grin on his lips as he turns back to Keith.

He’s watching him, hip cocked out to the side and smile tugging at his lips. It’s small, but it reaches his eyes all the same. It isn’t loud, nor does he laugh, but the lines of his amusement are etched deeply into the softening curves of his face. Subtle, yet so extremely obvious that Lance wonders how he ever thought Keith was expressionless and dull.

Lance saunters back across the room, each step slow and precise, extremely aware of how his body moves and exaggerating every rolling motion as he watches Keith’s eyes rake up and down his chest.

His gaze slides back up to Lance’s as he gets close, looking up at him through his lashes, eyes dark and lidded. They reach for each other at the same time. Lance lifts his arms to casually stretch them over Keith’s shoulders, fingers lightly intertwining behind his head. Keith’s hand rise to his hips, thumbs idly rubbing over his hip bones, causing shivers to run down his spine. Lance doesn’t
even try to hide it, just arches his back to put himself a little closer.

“Took care of the camera,” He says, playful, light, but bordering on breathless.

He’s gratified when Keith’s voice is just as wrecked, deep and crackling on the edges. “I can see that.”

Lance’s smile widens just a fraction, head tilting to the side. He lifts his chin, putting their lips close, so close, but not quite touching. He can feel Keith’s breath on his mouth, a promise he holds himself back from, if only to revel in the way Keith’s hands tighten on his hips, sliding up to spread his fingers over Lance’s waist. The leather of his gloves is smooth and warm against his skin, but his fingertips are licks of fire.

“What’d you say about christening the room now?” He tilts his chin a little more as he asks it, brushing his bottom lip against Keith’s. Just the barest touch before pulling away, lips crooking upward as Keith leans forward to give chase.

“I’d say it’d be a waste not to.” The answer is a low and rumbling, mumbled through lips that barely move but sending a violent shudder through him all the same.

Keith leans forward to capture his lips, and Lance leans back, opening his mouth up to Keith’s greedy tongue. He arches his back, pressing hips and chest into him, tightening his arms around Keith’s neck. Warm and hungry hands move up and down his sides, fingers curled just enough, wrapping around to drag blunt nails down his back.

Lance gasps, a soft sound escaping his throat, and Keith nips at his bottom lip, pulling back with a smirk tugging at his eyes.

“Too bad we don’t have anything,” Lance says, pushing his hips forward to grind against Keith’s in a full body roll. He tilts his chin to waggle his eyebrows. “Or we could really christen this room, you know, more than we... already... what’re you doing?”

Goosebumps rise to his chest as Keith moves away from him, arms falling to his sides before instinct kicks in and he slips his hands into his pockets. He watched with a raised brow, lips pursed into a small, curious frown as Keith moves across the room. He crouches when he reaches their bags, digging through his own while balancing on the balls of his feet.

He doesn’t answer Lance’s question, and Lance doesn’t bother prying.

When Keith stands and turns, brandishing a half empty bottle of lube and a condom, Lance laughs. It bubbles out of him, unexpected and genuine, causing him to bend at the waist, shoulders shaking. Keith grins, bright and toothy, cheeks rising to crinkle the edges of his eyes.

“Keith, what the fuck,” Lance wheezes between laughs.

He tries to tone his grin down. He really does. Lance can see the struggle to rein it back into a more controlled smirk, but it still glitters in his eyes. He shrugs, coming to stop in front of him, idly eyeing the things in his hand. “You keep insisting we make out in weird places but get upset when we don’t have the option of going further. Thought I’d start being more prepared.”

“You make it sound like I’m not satisfied by your hands and mouth, because let me just say, I am very satisfied by both of those.” That earns him a roll of the eyes, but Lance just grins. He reaches out to grab Keith by the hips, pulling Keith closer. He leans forward, moving to kiss him but shifting to the side at the last moment, running his nose along Keith’s cheek. “And you say that like you’re not the one who dragged me to the make out corner at work during my break last week and shoved a hand down my pants.”

Keith chuckles, soft and breathy. “I didn’t hear you complaining.”

“I certainly didn’t then, and I’m not complaining now. I’m just stating, for the record, you’re as bad as I am.”

Keith hums and turns his head, chasing after Lance’s lips until he can capture them, leading Lance through a long and languid kiss, soft but firm. There’s a promise in it, an underlying intensity that he can feel in the pressure of their kiss, a tease as his tongue flicks across Lance’s lips but doesn’t move further.

“So how’d you wanna do this?” He turns his head to break the kiss, eyes opening for only a moment before fluttering shut as Keith’s lips trail across his jaw to his ear, breath hot as he whispers.

“I’m going to ride you until you can’t see straight.”

“Oh,” Lance manages to get out, voice cracking in a way he’s not proud of but can’t necessarily help. A shudder pulses through him as Keith kisses his neck, lips dragging down to his collarbone before biting down, pulling a low groan from Lance’s throat, rough and ragged.

He pulls back, pressing a quick kiss to Keith’s little pout before sinking to his knees, hands trailing down Keith’s sides, over his hips, feeling the strength of his thighs beneath the thin fabric of his pants. He tilts his head back, smiling coy as Keith’s pout dissolves, lips parting and eyes going lidded.

Lance knows that look. He fucking loves that look. He’d do anything for that look.

Which is why he doesn’t care about the unforgiving wood of the dance room floor digging into his knees as he noses at the waistband of Keith’s pants. He pushes up the hem of his shirt just far enough to press his lips to the sensitive skin just below his navel, running his lips from hip bone to hip bone as his fingers hook into his waistband and pull down both pants and boxers, letting them pool at his feet.

Keith is waiting for him, heavy and eager, and his breath catches loudly as Lance wraps his fingers around his length. Lance smiles as he leans forward, unable to help the upturn of his lips even as he takes Keith’s tip into his mouth, feels it even as he slides further down, letting out a soft groan simply because he knows Keith likes it when he does.

Fingers curl into his hair, and he lets his eyes drift closed. He slides down Keith’s length, lips hitting his own fingers before he pulls back, dragging his tongue lazily along the underside.

The song changes, and Lance finds himself bobbing his head along with the rhythm, humming lightly as he does so. The fingers tense in his hair, and he cracks his eyes open, peering up at Keith, feeling a smirk lift his cheeks and crinkle the edges of his eyes as the small frown he finds there.

Then he sucks hard, pulling off and teasing the tip, enjoying the way Keith’s small frown disappears as his lips part with a gasp, head falling back as a low groan rumbles from deep in his throat.
Lance,” He says, voice breathless and cracking.

It’s a warning.

It’s a demand.

It’s a plea.

He takes the lube from Keith, slicking up his fingers while continuing to tease him with his tongue. Setting the bottle aside, he reaches back to grip his length, mouth sinking down once more as fingers reach around to press between his cheeks. Keith’s legs shift further apart automatically, moving to accommodate him, leaning forward just a fraction.

Lance teases him for a moment before pressing in, letting him get used to it before moving. Even this has a rhythm by now. Motions that they’ve gone through countless times before. Motions that never seem to get old. Motions they fall into with the same enthusiasm and vigor, anticipation making everything sharp, nerves on end as they await each touch, each sensation racing through them with crackling sparks.

Keith is always the impatient one. Always trying to rush and chase and push, push, push, until they’re both out of breath and shaking. Lance is the one who tries to take it slow, stretch the moments, build it gradually with lingering touches, making them quake with anticipation until they’re both clinging desperately as they tip over the edge. Keith cries out, desperate and hungry as Lance builds his climax lazily, and Lance babbles incoherently as Keith takes the pace fast and quick, shoving them to the top and toppling them over the edge.

Here and now, Lance can feel Keith’s impatience. He can feel it in the way Keith’s hips start to can’t as Lance adds a second finger, trying to take his time to let him get used to it. Fingers in his hair tighten, body jerking as he’s torn between pushing into Lance’s mouth or against his fingers. When Lance glances up, Keith’s eyes are closed tight, brows furrowed, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

He’s beautiful.

Lance’s eyes drift closed, focusing on the task at hand, building him up, stretching him, using all the small tricks that he’s learned to draw out his favorite sounds. The occasional gasp and groan that rises above the sound of the music sends heat coiling low in his gut.

Then the hand slides to the back of his head, fingers curling in tight, pulling him back, mouth sliding off of him, tilting his head back until their gazes meet. His other hand is at Lance’s shoulder, pushing him back, shuddering as fingers slip out of him.

He pushes until Lance loses his balance, falling back to the floor, one hand behind him. He watches as Keith steps out of his pants, kicking off his shoes before chasing after him, settling on top of him, straddling his hips, leaning forward to crush their lips together in a hungry kiss, tongues sloppy, pushing until they’re both falling.

Lance’s back hits the floor, hands diving into Keith’s hair, curling into the thick strands, tugging just hard enough that Keith growls into the kiss, teeth biting at his lips.

Hands fumbling between them, fingers tugging at his waistband, pulling it down, cool air rushing to meet heated skin. Fingers wrap around him, flushed and sensitive, eager and waiting. Lance gasps into Keith’s mouth, and he swallows it down, cutting him off with a swipe of his tongue. Lance clings to him as Keith strokes him.

Then Keith’s lips are gone, leaving him reeling. The tearing of wrapping. Hands on him again, sliding the condom on. Then Keith is back, lips catching his, pressing tight. A kiss that has the edge of desperation pushing them close, but the lingering fondness that leaves it gentle. A full press, lips melding together as Keith positions himself over him.

Groans shared between them as he sinks down. Lance’s hands on Keith’s hips, grabbing tight to flesh, nails digging in as his back arches. Breaths sharp and quick, whistling through noses and brushing across cheeks. One of Keith’s hands pressed to Lance’s chest, the other pressed to the floor beside them.

Moments pass. A few tentative cants of his hips. A slow rise and fall as he gets used to the feeling, adjusts to it. Lips sloppy and uncoordinated but no less eager as they take in the sensations.

Then Keith is breaking away, sitting up, hands on Lance’s chest to help him balance. He lifts himself up, holding it, making eye contact, lips parted and eyes lidded. He lowers himself quickly, ass coming into contact with Lance’s thighs, ripping a groan from both of them.

He builds a rhythm, rising on his knees before bringing himself back down, quickly falling into sync with the music pounding through the speakers, vibrating through the floor beneath them. Lance lies back, eyes hooded, locked onto Keith as he rides him, unable to look away. Gaze trailing along his features, the tilt of his chin, the slender curve of his neck, the way his body rolls, the way his hips cant, confident and sure.

His hands cling to Keith’s hips, helping him along, holding on to ground himself, encouraging as Keith builds their pace, pressure building with the climax of the song. With every fall, a sound rips from Keith’s lips, wordless cries, soft and barely audible if Lance hadn’t been listening for them.

Lance is less subtle about it, not bothering to hold himself back. He lets the sounds fall from his lips, pulled from his throat with every exhale. He knows Keith likes to hear him. Likes that Keith likes to hear him. Doesn’t bother holding back when the music will cover it up anyway.

The hands on his chest flex, fingers curling into his skin. Keith’s head bows, hair falling in a curtain around his face, features pinched and strained. His movements lose their coordination, trusting eagerly but losing the rhythm of it, desperate for more but unable to find it.

He doesn’t think before acting. Just sits up and wraps an arm around Keith’s back. Flips them over and presses him down to the floor. Holds his hips up as he presses into him, bends over him and captures his lips as Keith lifts his head to meet him halfway. Holds Keith in place as his hips snap forward, off beat to the music, rushed and erratic. Knees dig into the hardwood floor, but he ignores the ache. All he can do is chase the pleasure, chase the sensation of Keith tight and warm around him, thrust into that heat as it builds in his gut, coils low and hot, pressure building until it’s all the drives him, all he can think and feel.

His head drops to Keith’s shoulder, face pressed into his neck, breaths drifting hot and heavy across his collarbones. “Keith.”

“Lance-- fuck--“ His back arches, head tossed to the side as Lance presses sloppy kisses and uncoordinated bites to his neck.

He keeps up his pace, far too wound up to slow down now, chasing that feeling that’s so close. He’s close-- close-- “Fuck--“ He pushes his head into Keith’s shoulder, one hand holding on desperately to Keith’s hip as the other moves between them, wraps around Keith’s length, stroking him quick, desperate, attempting to pace it with his own thrusts. “Keith--“

Keith arches into him. Attempts at his name falling from Keith’s lips. Fingers clutch at the short strands of his hair. Nails dig into the back of his shoulder, arms tightening around him. “Please-- fuck-- I’m--”

Then he’s gasping, sound choking off into a groan as heat spills out over Lance’s hand. running over his knuckles as Lance strokes him through it, the ragged sound of Keith’s moan tipping Lance over the edge, hips jerking as pleasure rolls over him, tightening in his gut, muscles clenching as his body spasms with it.

Then he’s collapsing on top of Keith, both of their chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat, heat radiating from them both.

With a groan that’s half satisfied and half in protest, Lance pulls out of him, rolling off to the side to give them both room to breathe. He peels the condom off, tying it and tossing it to the side to deal with later.

They lay like that as the song changes. Then another. Breaths coming softer until they fade beneath the music. Lance shirtless and pants pushed below his hips. Keith with his lower half exposed, shirt rising up to his chest.

Lance reaches out, staring at the ceiling as he blindly gropes until he finds Keith’s hand, pulls it toward him and presses a kiss to his wrist, his palm, his knuckles. His head falls to the side to find Keith already watching him, eyes hooded, dark irises hazy and eyes crinkling at the edges. Lips curved into a small, fond smile. Barely noticeable save for the way it lights up his entire face.

Lance grins back, rolling onto his side to reach out with his free hand, lazily trailing his knuckles along Keith’s cheekbones, feeling the curve of it down to his jaw, letting his fingertips drift across soft skin as Keith’s eyes flutter shut, chin lifting as he hums.

His stomach twists, chest fluttering with a tickling warmth. One that makes him feel breathless. Weightless. One that spreads out through his limbs, making his nerves tingle and toes curl. One that has his body squirming, unable to sit still. One that makes him feel drifting and grounded all at once.

A smile tugs at his lips, slipping through the exhaustion. It’s a smile he finds himself having a lot around Keith. One that he can’t seem to hold back. One that slips onto his lips without his permission. One that he feels in his stomach, making him feel too full, chest too tight, ready to burst.

He presses a thumb to Keith’s lips, pad of it brushing lightly across the plump, bruised skin. Keith’s lashes are long and dark against the smooth paleness of his cheeks. His face is relaxed. Still as porcelain. No crease between his brows. No frown around his lips. His hair falls to the floor in a cascade of inky dark strands.

Completely open as Lance touches him. Completely relaxed. Vulnerable and trusting.

“I love you, you know.” Lance says it casually. A whisper into the calm of the room. Disappearing beneath the beat of the bass and the rise of the lyrics.

Keith hears it, though. Opens his eyes again. Pinning Lance with a gaze that’s dark and beautiful as the midnight sky and just as soft. He can feel his smile beneath his thumb. Feels his breath against his fingers as he says, “I know.”

Lance’s smile quirks just a fraction wider, feels the amusement in the corners of his eyes as they narrow. “Did you just Hans Solo me?”

He feels Keith’s lips thin a little more as his smile grows. “Maybe.”

“I want to be offended, but honestly, I’m kind of proud.”

Keith’s grin is impossible to resist. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning down to press his lips to Keith’s, adoring the way Keith lifts his chin, tilting his head to meet him in a sweet kiss.

Somewhere beneath the music, Lance hears the door open, but he doesn’t register the sound for what it is until he hears Hunk’s voice.

“Lance! You guys ready to go--oh my god.”

They both tear apart, Lance whipping his head up and Keith doing the same, pushing himself up onto an elbow, knees already curling toward him. Lance meets Hunk’s eyes, wide and round, jaw dropped and mouth working soundlessly, trying to form words that won’t come. His phone falls from his hand, clattering loudly to the floor.


Hunk!” Lance says, voice cracking, loud and pitched high.

“Dude, what’s up? Are they ready to-- Jesus fucking--“” Pidge walks around Hunk, stepping into the room, but barely gets a glance before Hunk’s hand clamps down over their eyes. His other hand slaps across his own eyes.

But it’s too late. They’re already screaming.

”What the fuck!


“Keith, I swear to fuck--“

“Lance, I can’t believe--”

“Oh my god--”

“My eyes!”

Lance finds himself already moving his body over Keith’s, out of reflex more than anything, trying to shield him from view. Preserve his decency in a situation where they no longer have any. “What are you guys doing here?” He asks, voice still pitched far too high for his liking.

“What are we-- what are you doing?!” Hunk’s voice similarly jumps up an octave.

“I can’t believe--“ Pidge is screaming, voice louder than the rest. Hunk’s hand is still firmly planted over their eyes, even as they bend down, reaching blindly for their own foot.

“Oh my god--“ Keith is stuck between trying to hide beneath Lance and struggling to reach for his pants

“Why are you guys still here?” Lance manages to get out, voice cracking as he tries to get his pants pulled up without falling completely on top of Keith.

“We came to see if you were ready to go--“

“Which obviously you’re not.” Pidge manages to wrestle off one of their shoes, rearing back to throw it blindly at them. “You fucking nasties.” It hits his leg before clattering off to the side. He yelps all the same

“Watch it!” Lance grabs for it before tossing it back, pleased when they both jump as it hits Pidge’s hip.

“Don’t throw things at me when I’ve been scarred and blinded!”

“Just get out!” Keith shouts, voice rising to join the rest of them.

“I can’t believe--“


Hunk turns, using his hand on Pidge’s face to turn them, pushing them out into the hall, keeping his back firmly to the room as he reaches behind him to shut the door.

They’re quick to dress, haphazardly pulling their clothes back on, Lance having to jump several times before he’s able to catch hold of his shirt and pull it down, only stopping to look at each other once they’re done. Their gazes lock, movements slowing. Then all at once they’re laughing, bubbling and bright, bursting from them loud and unbidden. Their bodies shake with it, bending at the waist.

“Pidge’s gonna kill us.” He says when the laughter subsides, straightening and wiping the corner of his eye.

“I know.” Keith’s grin is bright and blinding.

Lance moves forward, hands at Keith’s waist to pull him close, ducking his head to press their foreheads together. Keith leans into it, arms wrapping around Lance’s back. “We’re gonna have to bribe them with milkshakes.”

“You really think that’ll work?”

“Nope. Think we can make it out of here and to your bike before they can catch us?”

There’s a spark in Keith’s eye, one that has fire racing through Lance’s veins. His lips curl, grin turning sly. “Race you down the stairs?”

“You’re on.”

Bags slung over their shoulders, Keith grabs his hand, tugging him out the door. They sprint down the hall. Dipping into the stairwell as Pidge shouts after them. Laughter echoing throughout the confined space as they leap down two steps at a time. Jumping over the handrails. Flinging themselves the last few steps to land heavily at the bottom.

And as they straighten, turning to share a glance, breathless and grinning, Lance can’t help but think about the first time they raced down the stairs and through the halls of the studio.

And as he meets Keith’s eyes, sees the depths of color swirling there, dark and glistening, captivating and beautiful, he can feel his heart squeeze in his chest, skipping a beat and bruising his ribs.

And as Keith’s smile turns a fraction shy, a hair more self conscious, peering up at him through his lashes as he grabs his hand again, tugging him out toward the parking lot, Lance can’t help how his expression softens, smile small but aching in his chest.

He should have known they were bound to be together.