Archive of Our Own ^omega

⚞  1  ⚟

Keith hears him coming, his back turned and his shoulders relaxed.

"You know, you can be a pretty hard guy to find," Lance says, and his steps end at Keith's side, overlooking Orla'an canyon.

"Funny you always say that," Keith remarks, "since you find me, regardless.  And," he finally glances at Lance, "…always wearing something weird."

This time it's what looks like New Altean formal wear.  A decorative overtunic and shoulder jacket with the traditional gold waist cinches and a sash.

"…Isn't the anniversary next week?" Keith asks.

"Yeah.  This was just a fundraiser, for the orphans.  I'm gonna be on the colony for a couple of movements."  Lance side-eyes him.  " Your fashion sense is hideous, as usual.  What is this?"

Keith breathes a small chuckle as Lance picks at the black cloth draped over his shoulders.  "It just protects the armor plates from junk," he explains.  "It's meant to take a beating, and on New Daibazaal people don't care what it looks like.  I take it off when I'm supposed to look… professional."

"Right.  Professional ," he emphasizes.  His tone is facetious, like he can still barely fathom Keith being professional in any capacity.  Keith isn't offended; how can he be, when Lance smirks at him like it's an inside joke?  "Coalition talks are going well, I hear."  Lance continues, segueing further into conversation.  He turns to walk along the rim of the canyon, and Keith moves to follow.

Keith lets him continue chattering for a while.  He's not surprised to find Lance fidgety, making small talk.  When Lance seeks him out like this, it's almost always because there's something on his mind, weighing heavily on him, until he can't put on a cheery face in front of his family, or the colonists, or the war orphans.  That's when he comes to Keith.

Keith isn't sure when exactly he became the only person Lance would drop his guard around.  It was sometime during the war.  Sometime when they were exhausted and lonely.  Frustrated, desperate.

Lance comes to Keith when he needs someone to pry him open.

They reach a particular part of the canyon wall that Keith is familiar with, and Keith stops walking.

"…So then I said, well obviously they're gonna— what?"  Lance stops in tandem, turning to Keith with a question in the downward quirk of his lips.

But Keith smirks, and just takes one step closer to the edge, his eyes fixed on Lance's.

"Whoa, buddy, if my conversation is that boring I can just leave, you don't have to literally jump off a cliff to esca— Keith— !"

Keith jumps without looking, and Lance screams, reaching out, scrambling.

But when Lance peers over the side, Keith is crouched nonchalantly on a ledge, only about seven feet below, chuckling.

"Oh my god , you asshole!  I am having a fucking heart attack up here.  Getting premature wrinkles.  Grey hair.  Years off my life.  You hear that?  Your fault."  He kneels, low, reaching his hand down to Keith.

"Do you seriously think I would just end my own life in the middle of a conversation?"  Keith stands, but makes no move to take Lance's offered hand.

"Come on, come back up here."

"I have patience now.  It would take at least three conversations with you to make me jump."

" Keith , come on ."

"Why don't you come down here?"

Lance makes an uncomfortable expression.  "Down where?  That crumbly-ass looking ledge?  I don't think so."

Keith's hands are on his hips and the smirk on his face widens.  "There's a path down, idiot.  I thought maybe you'd wanna have some fun ."

"Down?!  That's like, four hundred feet!  At least!"

A quirked eyebrow.  A poke in a soft spot.  "You scared?"

Lance's eyebrows draw together and he finally retracts his hand.  "Dude," his voice is incredulous, but his body is repositioning.  "In my dress clothes?"

"So take them off."  Lance's face flushes redder than the New Daibazaal bedrock, so Keith eases in, "Just leave your overtunic up here.  We'll come back for it."

"But I'm not even…. you're at least wearing plates ."  Despite his griping, he is in fact undoing the clasps that fasten his overtunic.  After releasing the belt and raising the tunic over his head — Keith doesn't even remember the last time he saw Lance in a simple, white Earth t-shirt — he swings his legs over the side of the cliff and slides down.

"Don't worry," Keith removes his tattered cloak and swings it up with Lance's dress tunic, "you won't fall."  I won't let you fall.

He knows Lance hears what he means, anyway.

—

"Ah- Aaa aahhh —!"

About 250 feet down, Lance slips on a foothold.  Below him, with reflexes at top speed, Keith jams his luxite blade into the wall of rock, grips the hilt firmly with one hand, and catches Lance's flailing arm with the other.

As soon as Lance's arm is in Keith's solid grasp and he isn't in immediate danger of becoming a flattened Lance-pancake on the canyon floor, Lance clutches at Keith's arm with both hands and hauls himself into a position to reclaim some kind of foothold on the cliff face.

"Oh my god , I hate you," Lance insists.

Keith smirks down at him.  "No you don't."

—

They take a brief rest on an outcropping of stone about 300 feet down, three quarters of the way to the canyon floor.  New Daibazaal's host star is beginning to set, casting long, deep stripes of shadow along the cliff.

Here, between the world of the mesa shelf above and their destination of the dried riverbed below, a private purgatory where their lives are only casually in danger, Keith and Lance are the closest.

"Honestly, the thing that feels the most wrong is that everything — the whole universe — just keeps… happening , without her here," Lance admits quietly.  "And that's just— It doesn’t feel right, you know?  That the universe, all these universes!  So much stuff gets to happen — stars shine on planets and winds blow through trees and there are all kinds of noises and songs and like, birds and flowers and mountains and shit, I dunno — and she doesn't get to experience any of it.  I mean, don't get me wrong, I know that was the whole freaking point , but," he sighs, leaning back against the cliff.  "It feels like everything should have stopped, without her.  I should have stopped.  Maybe I did, you know?  Some part of me.  I don't feel like I'm ever actually doing anything anymore, like I'm just going through the motions of living, because my only other option is to not live."

Keith knows this wrongness.  It's the same wrongness he'd felt when his dad died, and every time Shiro had disappeared.

Lance chuckles through it quietly.  "That probably doesn't even make sense.  Sorry, man, I'm kind of just a mess."  His head lolls toward Keith, but his eyes remain on the hazy, red star setting beyond the canyon.

Keith turns his own head to face Lance.  "It's fine.  Feelings don't always have to make sense, Lance."

They're almost shoulder to shoulder, legs stretched out, a light sheen of sweat over the dark skin of Lance's neck and arms.  There are a couple of pink scratches on Lance's forearms, from grappling against the rocks during his near fall.

"I think that's why it's been so hard for me to fly since the Lions left, you know?" Lance murmurs distantly.  "I mean, I do it, I can get around, but it's like pulling teeth.  It doesn't feel right.  I don't really want to, not like I did before."

"So then why do you do it?"

A quiet, exasperated chuckle.  "Because you don't fuckin' visit enough, you dick."

Keith's hand slips across the space between them, lightly touching one of the scratches before moving downward to Lance's hand.  Keith lifts it gently, fitting his own against it, intertwining their fingers.  "It's probably not much consolation," he offers, "but you're doing a lot better than I did.  After we lost Shiro.  Both times… I couldn't let go and move on.  I was obsessed.  I would have run myself into the ground if it weren't for you guys."

"Yeah, but," Lance says, and Keith knows what he's gonna say before he says it.  " Because of that, you got Shiro back ."

"I was fooled into bringing back an evil clone because I was so desperate to believe it was the real thing, and then it almost destroyed the whole team.  And I almost…"

"…Almost what?"

Keith second guesses for a moment.  He's said so much already, but… if there could ever be an appropriate time to tell Lance, this is it.  He might as well go all in.  He sighs through his nose, and gazes out to the reddening sky.  "When I fought the clone, it was at this base on a close orbit around a star.  We were wrecking the facility pretty bad, and as it fell apart it lost orbital stabilization.  Started falling into the star's gravitational well."

"Yikes."  Lance grimaces.  Kind of an understatement.

"After I disarmed the clone—"

"Heh, disarmed."

"Heh."  Yeah, okay, that's funny.  "Anyway, he lost consciousness, and fell.  I jumped after him.  And I mean, I did try to hang on, but…"

Lance's brows furrow as he sees where this is going.  "So you were both falling?  Into the star?"

"Yeah."

Lance is quiet, probably waiting for Keith to continue.  After all, he's here now, so there's obviously more to the story.  This is just the hard part for Keith to tell.

"If I let go, I knew the clone would die.  The only piece of Shiro I had left.  He would never let go of me , if the situation were reversed.  But if I hung on, we would both die.  And I thought… without Shiro, would the universe even still be worth living in?  For a second, I really accepted that I was going to die with him.  And of course, that's when I felt the Black Lion in my mind, the drive to save us, the determination."

He suddenly realizes that Lance is squeezing their intertwined hands, and that he is squeezing back.  He doesn't even know which of them started it.

"What is with you and trying to die, dude?"  Lance asks.  Keith can tell he's trying to keep it light, but the tremble in his voice betrays him.  "First Naxzela, now this?"

"That's my point," Keith says, finally meeting Lance's eyes again.  "When I get attached to people, I'm shit at letting them go, even when it's obviously unhealthy to hold on.  You're at least trying .  I… kind of admire you."

But Lance looks away.  "Not gonna lie, man.  I can't say I haven't been tempted to give up."

"She'd be so pissed at you for that."

"Yeah, I know.  The whole reason she sacrificed herself was so that we could go on living, blah blah blah.  You have no idea how many times people have reminded me."

"Hah, I bet."

"But just knowing that doesn't make me stop thinking about it, you know?  Wondering if there would have been any way for me to take her place, or if there's anything I could do now to restore her life by giving up my own."

"Yeah, I get that."  Unfortunately, Keith does understand that.

"Can I tell you something dumb?"  Lance asks.

Keith smirks.  "You tell me dumb things without permission all the time."

Lance laughs, nudging Keith's shoulder with his own.  "Shut up!"

"But sure, go ahead."

"I used to kinda…" Lance is still smiling when he starts, but it becomes more self-deprecating as he goes on.  "I used to think that maybe she gave me some kind of powers with these marks, and that if I awakened them or whatever, maybe I'd be able to do the kind of alchemy that could bring her back."  Keith isn't surprised, exactly, but he's surprised that Lance is telling him.  "I read a bunch of books and stuff, and I tried , but no dice.  No cool alien powers."

Keith huffs a laugh.  "Damn."

"I think Pidge was starting to figure out what I was doing, too.  She said some dumb shit, like, 'You were only together for a couple months!' or whatever."

Geez.  Keith sighs and uses his free hand to card through his bangs.  He knows Pidge means well, but she can be a little… lacking in the empathy department, sometimes.

"I didn't take it to heart or anything," Lance continues.  "Not like I would have a couple years ago.  But… honestly, the fact that we weren't together very long just made it worse in a way, you know?  Like, we were just getting started.  We could have experienced so many things together, built so many things, and we didn't even get the chance."

Keith nods.  "Right."

"And!"  Lance seems to get a little more emphatic, a little more bitter.  "Even though we only dated for a few months, I loved her a lot longer than that.  Her returning those feelings was like… finally being told I was worth something to someone, not just because I was the only one who could pilot Blue or Red.  She could have chosen anyone, and she chose me.  And then she had to choose between me and literally all of reality, and… well obviously all of reality is more important, so."

"I think that's why she gave you the marks."

"Huh?"

Keith readjusts, but keeps his hold on Lance's hand.  "I think she gave them to you to remind you that you were important to her.  That you are important.   Not to remind you of her sacrifice, or keep you from moving on."

Lance frowns.  "I just don't see how I'm supposed to forget how much I loved her when I've got the echo of our relationship tattooed on my face."

"Do you want to forget loving her?"

"No!  But everyone keeps saying that I have to move on and shit, and—"

"Then don't forget.  Fuck them, they don't know what they're talking about."  Lance raises an incredulous eyebrow at Keith, and he realizes he'd better clarify.  "I'm not saying don't move on; I'm saying you don't need to forget loving her, or even stop loving her.  Your heart is really big, Lance.  Loving Allura isn't gonna keep you from loving others."

Lance hmph s, leaning back against the rock.  "My heart doesn't feel big.  Feels small.  Tiny and dried up and broken."

"Well, you keep trying to wring all of your feelings for Allura out of it like a sponge."

Lance makes a frustrated noise, but doesn't bother arguing.

"It might have been easier," Keith continues, "dealing with this, if the war weren't over.  If we still had the distraction of self-preservation, and a cause so much bigger than us.  In peacetime, this is like, level 99 grieving."  A humored breath from from Lance's nose fans across Keith's face, leaving a small smile in its wake.  "But I'm… glad that you keep going, despite everything.  Eventually, you might find other things that make you feel alive."

Lance smirks.  It's half-hearted, but that's better than no-hearted.  "Tossing me off a cliff doesn't count, mullet."

"Oops," Keith smirks back.  "Worth a try."

⚞  2  ⚟

"Are you making yourself hard to find on purpose?  You're not even where you're supposed to be, this time."

Keith pauses where he's half-inserted himself into the underbelly of his ship, the Wolvenfang .  He's been trying to tweak the liquid O2 compressors and coolant flux system so he can increase the intensity of the engine's ion laser, for higher speeds and greater stability during warp.  He's supposed to put in an official maintenance request and leave this to the mechanics here at the Blade base, but he would really rather do it himself.

He also really doesn't want to read all the paperwork waiting for him in his office.  Not that that's the main reason he's here, or anything.

"Lance," he acknowledges, resuming tightening the valve cover bolt.  He just has to finish this.  "How would you know?"

"I asked Acxa before wormholing into the sector.  She's pissed, you know.  The big man, shirking his duties?"

"She could find me if she really wanted to," Keith reasons.  " You did."  He finally ducks down, but only to point to a tool from the cart.  "Can you pass me that?"  He glances at Lance, on his way to stick his head back up into his ship's guts.  But suddenly he double takes and stares, giving Lance a more thorough once over.  "What are you— What kind of gear is that?"

Lance continues toward him, starting to remove some of his outer armor pieces.  It's bulky, but looks light.  It's mostly bright but neutral in color, with odd straps and bolts that don't look designed for human-shaped bipeds.  And it bears insignia, or some kind of brands, but not from any planet Keith's familiar with.

It's also horribly beaten up, from head to toe — scrapes, burns, blast shrapnel, impact dents… the works.  The less protected bits of cloth in unarmored areas are various degrees of shredded.  Lance himself also looks worse for wear.

He didn't come from Earth.

"Oh, it's… well, it's kind of a long story," Lance begins.  Keith drops down from his step ladder.  Even short stories with Lance take a long time; he's not getting back to the Wolvenfang any time soon.  "See, I had just passed through awc X-F0024, you know, that one out near Olkari but not the actual Olkari checkpoint?  Hunk had a big catering event in sector G of that galaxy and wanted some stuff from the farm, tomatoes and radishes and… no wait, turnips.  And potatoes.  He goes through so many potatoes, dude, you wouldn't even believe."

"Wouldn't we all, if we could?" Keith laments.

"True, true.  Anyway, I was gonna stop by Pidge's office to share some of Hunk's stuff with her and Ryner, since I was over there, but right after I passed through the wormhole checkpoint I noticed I had some extra shit in my cargo bay?  Don't tell them I accidentally lied about my cargo register.  Guess what it was, dude?"

"Uh… a girl."

"No, get this, it— wait what the fuck, how did you know?!" Lance sounds more winded than offended, strangely, and even his flabbergasted expression looks too worn out to be truly dramatic.  But actually, Keith is surprised; his guess had only been a joke.  How does Lance always get himself into weird shit?

"I asked Acxa," he teases.

"You did not .  I haven't even told her."  Lance pouts.  "Whatever.  But look, it wasn't a hot girl, if that's what you're thinking.  It was like, a little kid.  A stowaway."

Keith's mood goes from teasing to concerned in the span of a second.

"She was terrified at first, and — I'll admit, I wasn't too happy about having just fucked up my cargo declaration, so maybe I was a little…  keyed up, you know? — but eventually I got her to relax and tell me how the hell she got there.  My little ship was under like, maximum security!  But apparently her friends went through a lot to get her onboard, after having already gone through a whole crazy mess to get from their home planet to the other one.  Frinnit, that's her home planet, by the way.  And this—" Lance gestures to himself, "—is space pirate gear from there."

Lance sounds even more winded now, for some reason.  Sure, he's talking a lot, kind of rambling, but not enough that he should be so breathless.  Keith starts to get an uneasy feeling, and pays closer attention.

"It's not on the Alliance maps, because the whole stupid thing was covered in an electromagnetic barrier.  They could open it up to let ships in and stuff, and from far away it just looked like a super low-energy FRB repeater.  Wild, right?  So this girl— This whole planet was governed by… basically the mafia.  And this girl got sold, as property, to pay off her parents' debts.  It was so skeezy, man, you should have heard her tellin' me about this, like it was just common practice.  Like, oh!  You've got debts?  Got any young children?  Just sell 'em.  You can always make more .  There was this whole insane procreation propaganda thing, and the mortality rate of kids and adolescents on Frinnit was higher than that of all other age groups combined.  All the older civilians felt guilty, but they'd kind of accepted it as a way of life, because every single household was entangled with mafia dealings — through their basic utilities, their education system, everything.  Late-stage capitalism, you know?"

"Holy shit," Keith starts to tense.  The whole purpose of the Blade of Marmora was to help the inhabitants of planets like Frinnit.  And yet, this had been happening in practically their backyard.  "Why didn’t you call me?"

"Well I didn't know all that, the extent of it, 'til I got there myself.  I thought it was just, like, an organized crime ring, I guess.  But by the time I figured it out, it was way too late to call for backup, and I couldn't have gotten a signal to you anyway.  I was inside the barrier, and my ship's scaultrite array isn't enough to produce a gravitational wave signal strong enough to be detectable with BOM instruments."

"What about the Olkari?  They were close."

"Dude, it was a cargo ship.  The max gravitational wave signal the warp array can put out without self-destructing is like, on the order of a shoelace."

Keith sighs.

"So," Lance inhales, but it… seems shaky.  "Thankfully, there was already an organized resistance.  The pirates, Dawa, and the Banko.  These marks here," he points to an insignia on his chestplate, "this one is Dawa, and these two are Banko and a sort of… rank designation, and this one is the symbol they gave to me, specifically."  He starts to undo a belt under his arm, and visibly winces.

"Lance…" Keith begins.

But Lance just continues without acknowledging him.  "It was so weird, man," he laughs, but it's breathy and a little choked as he starts to loosen the bolts so he can maneuver the various straps.  Keith's unease worsens, and he starts to catalog every mark on the armor, looking for… he doesn't know what.  "It's been forever since I've done the hero thing, you know?  I didn't really think I'd be a lot of help.  Shit, I didn't even think I'd make it out , sometimes.  But I… we…"

"Lance," Keith tries again, firmer.  "What did you do?"

"We… don't look at me like that!  It wasn't just me.  But…" He finally gets everything loose, and starts to tug the plate off.  He grunts, having some difficulty, and before Keith even comprehends what he's doing he's there, helping pull it off the rest of the way.  He thinks he's pretty gentle about it, despite his rising panic, but at Lance's sharp gasp he realizes he wasn't gentle enough.  Lance's entire midsection is covered in strappy bandages, wet with some kind of salve, and the darkness of human blood.  Lance's blood.

"We took down the whole mafia.  I just need a little—"

" Fuck , you idiot," Keith reaches for his comm.  "Ezor, Zethrid.  Hangar Nacto, now .  Bring a healing pod, calibrated for a human."  He reaches to steady Lance, who's broken out in a light sweat.  "Your armor was keeping pressure on that wound.  Why didn't you lead with 'Hi Keith, I'm injured'?"

"Hi injured, I'm dad.  Hah," Lance starts to laugh but it turns into a pained wheeze.

"Shut up," Keith directs.

"Come on, aren't you even gonna be like—"

"Lance, I swear—"

"—Good job, Lance, you saved a whole planet, after doing basically no ass-kicking for like two years.  Gee, Lance, I'm so impressed.  I'm— I'm so proud of you for rising to the call for help from people who needed you—"

"I'll be proud of you if you quit talking."  Keith tries to inspect the wound, but Lance bats his hands away.

"It's not even that bad, dude."  But Lance sways and rests his forehead on Keith's shoulder.

"It looks like shit."

"I'm just tired, and gross."

"You can shower after we get you in and out of a pod."

"I just…" Lance breathes shakily, clearly trying to keep it together.  While it may be true that he's not in completely dire condition, Keith can't help but feel an acute urgency.  The last time he saw Lance incapacitated to this extent was when Sendak betrayed Admiral Sanda during the war.  "I just wanted you to be the first to hear about it.  I wanted to tell you.  I'm… I think I'm really happy, that I could do it, that I did it."

"Commander!"  Ezor rushes in at the other end of the hangar.  A glance confirms that Zethrid follows with a pod and several Blade medical personnel.

"I made it better," Lance breathes.  "But," he grabs Keith's hand, and it's clammy but Keith clutches it with no intention of letting go.  "They're gonna need you.  They're gonna need… They have… so much to fix."

"Got the coordinates?"

"My ship, the navigation system.  We took down the EM barrier."

"I'll take care of it," Keith assures him, just as Ezor gets near enough to them to gauge the situation and start directing the pod arrangement.  Keith isn't listening.  "…And that little girl?"

"She's safe," Lance confirms.  "She's… she's good, man."

⚞  3  ⚟

"Well, well," Lance says, "Look what the wolf dragged in.  Is this a coincidence, or did you come here to see me?"

Keith looks up from where he's been playing with Kosmo, trying to make up for the couple of hours he'd spent inside the packed venue.

Lance is covered in a blue silk robe with lace inlays along the borders, delicate and luxurious and only barely covering up the tight, showy costume he'd worn for his aerial ribbon performance only half a varga ago.  The whole fundraising event was extravagant, and Lance perhaps the most extravagant thing about it.  The crowd was absolutely enormous, nearly as big as some of the coalition recruitment shows from their Voltron days, from what Keith has heard.  And even now, Lance is a performer, though his persona is significantly less messianic than when he was a teenager.  He's not aloof now, exactly, but much more reserved.  Subtle, graceful.  Almost ethereal, Keith might say.

Just not to his face.  Which is still covered in full makeup.

"Why are you still wearing that?" Keith asks.  He can't help a small smirk.  "Seems more like you rushed out here to see me ."

Keith can't tell if Lance is blushing through all that foundation and powder and glitter, but his body language is certainly suggestive of embarrassment.

Lance covers it up by bending down to grab Keith's comm.  "Seems like you're avoiding answering the question by turning it around into an accusation."  With no concern or remorse whatsoever, he yeets the device out into the vast, empty courtyard below, all the way into the maze garden.  Kosmo immediately disappears to follow.  Why does Kosmo fetch for Lance???  Keith still has no idea.  Having thus accomplished the theft and sabotage of Keith's personal property, Lance, apparently appeased, takes to leaning against the pillar of their little balcony.  "Embarrassed to say you were curious, boss man?"

"The Blade was contracted for supplies and security detail for the fundraiser," Keith defends.

"You're not even in uniform."

"My shift ended."

"Heh, knew it," Lance crows airily.  "You would never let me take your comm while you're on the clock."  A breath catches in Keith's chest and a nervous little tremor lights up his heart, somehow excited by being exposed even while he's also kind of mortified.  "And you stuck around inside the venue, with literally millions of aliens, for several hours, because…?"

"…Well," Keith ducks his head with a small smile.  "I didn't say I didn't want to see you."

The smirk that widens across Lance's painted lips just beams with haughty satisfaction.  He even huffs an exaggerated hmph , as if to seal his victory.

"Oh please," Keith reaches out and shoves him, though it's not very effective from his sitting position on the steps of the balcony.  "You're a good performer.  Whole galaxies of people wanna see you."

Lance just laughs as he stumbles a little away from his spot against the pillar.  Then, finally, he moves to sit down next to Keith.  "Hmmm yeah, I'm pretty great.  But you're usually immune to my charm!  Can't blame me for being smug right now."

"I'm not charmed."

"Oh no?"  Lance leans into Keith's space.

"No."

"Not at aaaaall?"  Lance drawls lowly.  "You're totally unaffected by how strong and flexible and gorgeous I am?"

Lance leans in further, his robe slipping along his leg to allow his bare thigh to press flush against Keith's pants.  Keith leans away with his upper body, but refuses to move further away.  "I'm affected by your gross breath."

"Liar," there's a hint of indignance in Lance's voice, "I had a Nanian breathmint like five minutes ago."

"Whatever."  Keith breaks and looks away, but somehow he can still tell that Lance is waggling his eyebrows.

"Not so stoic after all, huh, samurai?"

"Oh my god ," Keith finally pushes Lance's face away with his palm — "Can it, you damn flirt!" — only to realize too late that Lance's makeup is going to smudge on his gloves.

Lance doesn't even seem to care, snickering as Keith yanks his palm away.  Then he gets a wicked grin on his face, and the couple of moments that it takes Keith to figure out what's coming is a couple moments too much, costing him any possibility of escape.

"No— Lance, no—!"

Lance grabs his arms, and Keith's legs aren't quick enough to form an effective guard.  Lance breaks it easily, crowding the rest of the way into Keith's space with his own legs to lean in and apply a barrage of kisses to every bare part of Keith's body.

The first one, predictably, lands on Keith's cheek, painting a haphazard pink smear there as Keith lets out a scandalized yelp.  Lance attacks his jaw next, until Keith turns his face away, exposing his neck.  Lance is still smirking as he presses shiny pink smears everywhere he can reach, careless and happy.  Keith squirms and fights beneath him, but Lance's laughter is soon joined by Keith's even as Keith continues to struggle to push him away.

"Lance, augh—!"

"How's this for flirting?"

"Stop!  You— ah!  Haha, you—!"

But there's no fitting name for Keith to call him.   And even if such a thing existed, he's too busy to think of it, preoccupied as he is with trying to wrestle Lance off of him without completely divesting him of his robe or otherwise exposing him underneath.  By the time he's finally able to maneuver Lance around and buck him off, shoving him back to the side with a shriek of laughter from Lance, he can feel the little pink brands of Lance's lips peppered all over him.

Keith tries to keep him pinned, but Lance still has one of his wrists in hand, chuckling breathlessly.  And as soon as Keith meets his eyes again, Lance gives him a challenging look, more heated and fond than Keith has ever seen him, and brings Keith's hand up to his mouth to press one last messy, smirking kiss to Keith's fingertips.

Keith groans and rolls his eyes, but doesn't even try to take his hand back.

Kosmo chooses the next moment to flash into existence in very close proximity, dropping the comm next to them, and before Keith has any say in the matter he's knocked over right back onto Lance with a heavy oof .

"Kosmo!" Keith attempts to chide.

But it's drowned out by Lance's joyous, irrepressible laughter.  "Good boy!" he whoops, reaching up, caging Keith in, to ruffle Kosmo's fur affectionately.

⚞  4  ⚟

"Keith," Shiro sighs.  Again.  "You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

Keith can't say he's totally on board with the idea, but he's paying attention, at least.  "If I weren't," he hedges, "I wouldn't even be here."

And it's true.  The Garrison is still one of Keith's least favorite places, and Shiro's office at the Garrison has fallen even lower on the list during the past year.  Shiro is still commander of the Atlas, but he's recently been promoted from the rank of Captain to Commodore, with his Earth office correspondingly upgraded to one with a window.  Shiro is absurdly pleased with it — he says it feels more 'welcoming' to the younger cadets when they come to meet with him — but Keith isn't as enamored.  For one thing, he's come to associate Shiro's new office with professional requests that are sometimes hard to say no to.

"But your mind is already made up, isn't it?"

Keith considers.  "If I said yes, would you quit trying to change it?"

"What if you just… met some of the cadets?"  Shiro asks, ignoring his question.  "If you really think there would be more harm done than good on either side after that, then I'll officially retract the proposal."

"I…" How does Keith say this without sounding like a jerk?  "I don't really want to meet them."  Nailed it.

But Shiro persists.  "It doesn't have to be personal.  You could come in as a guest lecturer, just once."

A guest lecturer?  Isn't that what Shiro was when he came to Keith's middle school, long ago?  That kind of thing is for role models.  "I'm not really a good role model, Shiro.  I only fell into a position of leadership out of absolute necessity, not because I'm the kind of person you want these kids to look up to."

A rueful little smile quirks Shiro's mouth.  "You still can't see yourself the way the rest of the universe sees you," Shiro says.  "Sometimes, what kids need isn't a role model; it's someone they can relate to.  Someone who's been… rejected by the system, and still found the greatness within themselves and nurtured it."  Shiro leans forward, as if trying to press his words into Keith through eye contact.  "Only a small number of those kids will meet their potential along a straight line.  People like you are even more important for all the rest."

Fuck, Keith realizes.  He shouldn't have given Shiro the opening to contradict him.  This sounds like exactly the kind of persuasive pep talk that Keith hates the most, because it's always the most effective against him.

"Shiro…" he begins.

But suddenly, he's saved by the door bursting open.

"Keith!"

"Lance…?"

"Hi Shiro!"  Lance beams.

"Hi Lance."

Keith's brain reboots.  Yes, those are clothes, that Lance is wearing.  But they're more like… a costume?  Except, pieces of various costumes that were never meant to go together.  The only thing that looks even vaguely normal is the shirt underneath the gaudy, cartoonish jacket, which is hot pink, way too small for him, and reads, in bold blue lettering, "I survived Splash Mountain!" set above a vaporwave-style palm tree and sunset scene.

He settles for, "What the hell is on your head?"

"They're ears!  They light up!  And play music!  I'll show you later.  Shiro, give him the day off."

"Now, Lance," Shiro begins, "Keith is here to—"

"He's only here for like, two days," Lance interrupts.

"But we—"

"A-bup-bup!  No!  No no no, he's getting the day off, and he's coming with me.  Disney finally reopened and we have a date with like twenty roller coasters.  And Epcot.  Hand him over."

What is this?  A prisoner transfer?  Shiro is making a face that would be a pout on a lower-ranking officer, but now it would probably be called "disgruntled."

Keith has never been to Disney, but he thinks he has a basic idea what it is.  He's pretty sure it's for little kids.  Wouldn't they stand out?  Especially with Lance wearing such ostentatious clothing?  Or would he blend in more this way?  He regards the ears once again.

"…They light up?"  He asks, disbelievingly.  Looking closely, he can see where the LEDs in the ears might be.

"Hell yeah!" Lance proudly confirms.  Then he smirks in a sort of devious way, and Keith's curiosity starts to become a slight uneasiness.  "Jealous?  No worries, samurai, I've got ears for you too."  He lifts the large bag at his side incrementally, drawing Keith's gaze to it.  Honestly, Keith hadn't been able to differentiate it as not part of Lance's costume until now.

Shit.  Either the headband-ears in that bag are way bigger than the ones Lance is wearing, or Lance brought an entire set of garish, ornamental vestments for Keith, too.

" Shit ," he reiterates, out loud.  He can't tell if he feels like he's being rescued or sentenced to an even worse fate than Shiro's pep talk.  He looks back to Shiro, expecting him to continue protesting, but the man looks contemplative, almost resigned.  How often does Lance barge in here and demand Shiro's cooperation for things?  How often does Shiro end up giving in?

"There's really no possible way this could wait until after we're finished here?"  Shiro asks.

"Absolutely not," Lance declares unquestionably.  "We still have to take the shuttle to Orlando, and we're burning daylight.  Twenty roller coasters , Shiro."  Yeah, Shiro was probably defeated the moment the door opened.

Shiro sighs once more, leaning back in his chair.  He hums.  "On one condition."

"He's not answering calls or having video meetings or whatever at the park," Lance argues preemptively.

But Shiro shakes his head.  "No, no," he says, "I want photos ."

And Lance, the traitor, smirks.  "Done."

Maybe it's not too late for Keith to just make a run for it.

—

Lance, it turns out, is far more persuasive than Shiro.  Or, conversely, Keith is far weaker to Lance's persuasion than to Shiro's.

Keith prefers to think of the former as the reason why he did, in fact, end up wearing most of the clothing Lance brought for him ("But it looks good on you!"  "It's too humid, Lance.  I'm already sweating."  " Fine , okay, we'll leave Eugene's vest in the shuttle.  But you have to wear the ears."  "I am wearing the stupid ears."  "The whole time ."), and why he's spent the last four hours indulging Lance's whims at the theme park.  They're currently resting their legs and feet in a shaded area near Sleepy Hollow, eating deliciously bastardized versions of waffles.

They have, in fact, ridden five roller coasters already.  With how fast they were able to get on them, Keith was worried at first that Lance had been using their reputations as Paladins of Voltron to pull strings.  But it turns out Lance just bought fast passes for everything.  In between, he's been excitedly pointing out the newer additions to the park since he came here with his family when he was little, and things they must have added since the invasion while they were still shut down.

It turns out that Lance had exaggerated, and there are actually only nine coasters.  Keith is almost disappointed.

"But, I mean, think about how hype you and I would have been back then," Lance says, "if we could have interned with the Blade as cadets.  I mean, not with what the Blade was then, but as a relief organization.  Flying around the galaxy, meeting aliens, helping people, learning the wormhole routes… We would have loved a program like this."

"Yeah, I'm not saying you're wrong," Keith concedes.  "But a lot of what we do is still dangerous.  There are still pocket factions of Galra out there, trying to reclaim planets that have been liberated.  They're easy targets, because they haven't been governing themselves that long yet, and don't have much in the way of tech or defense programs.  And they're at risk from other external factors, too."  Keith frowns and fidgets with his waffle taco, sighing.  "You wouldn't believe the number of run-ins we've had with space pirates in the last couple phoebs.  And not the good kind."

Lance grins into his own waffle, whipped cream sticking to his upper lip.  "Mmmm, I do miss those feisty Dawa.  Not their smelly armpit secretions, though."

"…Sweat?"

"But this was like… viscous."

"Ew," Keith's nose wrinkles.  "Anyway," He continues, trying hard not to imagine it.  "It's just too hard to know when a mission is going to suddenly go south.  We have good reconnaissance, and good intel, but I don't wanna stake the lives of cadets on it."

"Hmm," Lance hums, taking another bite.

"If we're too visible, we're targets," Keith adds.  "One of them could be attacked unprovoked, just flying cargo."

"What about having them intern at bases?"  Lance asks.

"Security risk."

"Cargo flight, but with a protective mentor escort?"

Keith is about to shoot down the idea, but then amends it, conditionally.  "Maybe, but we're so short on manpower.  We'd only be able to actively mentor a few cadets," he explains.  "There are just so many planets in need, that have been completely ravaged, you know?  Even though the Blade has grown since the collapse of the empire, we're still spread pretty thin."

"So it would be a really selective program, then," Lance suggests.  "Nothing wrong with that.  And you know Shiro wouldn't be opposed to you cherry-picking students for it."

Something about that is… uncomfortable for Keith.  He frowns.  "I don't think so.  It should be the mentors who pick the cadets who intern under them, right?"

Lance finishes his waffle, licking his fingers thoughtfully.  "Yeah, I guess.  But then again, they all trust you, you know?  To make good choices."

"That's… a lot of responsibility."

"Yeah," Lance says.  There’s a long pause, as Keith’s discomfort sinks in and Lance finally gives up on cleaning his fingers with his mouth, instead making use of the little decontamination unit on the table.  "You don't have to do it."

Like magic, the tight tangle of stress in Keith's chest and shoulders loosens.  Just a little.  "...No?" He just wants to hear it again.

"No."

"You… you really wouldn't be… disappointed in me or something if I said no?  To Shiro?"

"What?"  Lance meets his eyes earnestly.  "Of course not, dude.  Shiro's just a glorified guidance counselor when he's at the Garrison, anyway.  And… yeah, I see where he's coming from, wanting you to interact with the cadets, and you'd be good at it for sure.  But you already have a ton on your plate!  You don't need to be the liaison or whatever for this new program, too."  He finishes with a sardonic smile.  "Then I'd never get to see you."

Keith finishes his own savory waffle-taco.  Weird, but delicious.  "Well, we can't have that."

For dessert, he reaches over and thumbs at the whipped cream on Lance's lip, relishing just a little in the feel of a tiny gasp there, then brings it to his own mouth.  He smirks as he licks his lips, gathering every last bit of the taste.

—

When they go through the Star Wars area, Keith's aversion to the humidity is overcome by his excitement at finding a high-quality replica of Poe Dameron's jacket.  Lance buys it for him.

⚞  5  ⚟

When Keith answers the door, he's actually kind of expecting to see Lance.  After all, they hadn't had much time to talk earlier, at the rehearsal dinner for Shiro's wedding, and everyone had sort of gone their own ways when they got to the hotel.  He figured Lance would want to catch up or chat or something.  He'd even accepted that Lance coming to find him while wearing ridiculous and/or unusual things is becoming kind of a pattern.

But usually he is wearing clothes at least.

"Well this is… pretty forward," he says.

"Shut up!"

"Is that… a table runner?" Keith asks, eyeing the long, thin piece of decorative fabric wrapped around Lance's otherwise naked body, just barely keeping his groin covered.

"Let me in now , ask questions later !" Lance demands.  And Keith isn't cruel enough to refuse.

So he moves out of the entry way of his room, letting Lance rush past him.  He goes straight for the bathroom and shuts the door, cursing under his breath the whole way.  His face is the reddest Keith thinks he's ever seen it, which is really saying something, given the sheer number of unflattering situations he's seen Lance in.

Keith closes the door and moves to his duffel bag, to grab a spare set of clothes.  No matter how long he stays in hotels, he never actually manages to use the built-in storage units, and this place is no different.  It only takes him a moment to find something for Lance, anyway.  Clean and vacuum sealed and plain, just like the rest of his clothing.  At least they're about the same size.

"Can I borrow some pants, dude?" Lance asks, right as Keith is walking back to the bathroom door.

"Right here," he says.

The door slides open just enough for Lance to grab the pack.  "Thanks."  And then the door slips closed once more.

Keith is actually very curious about what happened, but he'll ease into it.  "So.  Table runner:  yes?  No?"

"…Yes."

"From a table?"

"Yes."

"In the hallway?"

"…Yes."

"In which you were naked at some point."

" Yes but only for like five seconds!!"  Lance's voice resonates against the door, and Keith leans on it with one shoulder, trying not to laugh.

"And that was because…?"

"Because Sylvio is a little shit!  Wait, no— excuse me.  Because Sylvio is at that wonderful age where he loves pranking people."

Keith chuckles.  Yeah, Sylvio is ten, now.  "And he got you, I take it?"

"He said he wanted to go to the pool, okay?"  Lance defends.  "So I put on my trunks, and right when we were walking out the door, he pantsed me, and when I went to fix that he grabbed my towel , so I tried to take the towel back but then he managed to trip me with my own swimming trunks and then— he slammed the door in my face."

Okay, Keith can't hold in his chuckling anymore.  That's a good one.  "Rude," he laughs.

"You got that right."

There's quiet for a moment as Keith's chuckles die down, and the rustling on the other side of the door slows to a stop.

"Keith."

Oh shit, is something wrong?  "What?"

"What the fuck is this?"

Keith's brows furrow, and he moves away from the door to look in the direction of where Lance must be standing, as if he might understand what Lance is talking about.  "What are you talking about?"

The door slides open, and the first thing Keith sees is the still bare, caramel brown skin of Lance's chest.  He's wearing the pants from Keith's pack, but the shirt is— wait, what's in his hand is—

"Oh," Keith realizes.  "That's— sorry, it's one of my mom's harnesses."

"Like—" Lance jolts in sudden, unfortunate understanding.  "Like a bra ?"  He holds it out away from himself, as if the mere concept of his mother's under armour poisons his virtue somehow.  Dramatic.

"Well—" Keith reaches to take it from him.  "It's more like a sports bra, if anything.  She wears them when we train — it must have gotten mixed in with my clothes when I put everything through the decontaminator."

"You didn't even check to see what you were bringing with you?"  Lance asks, scandalized.  He follows Keith out of the bathroom, finally resigned to doing so shirtless.

"Most of my clothes are pretty plain," Keith explains.  "There's no point in being picky, because they're all more or less the same, except my formal clothes for different places."

Lance makes a face.  "And because the harness is black, you just…"

"…Didn't notice.  It looked just like everything else, when it was vacuum sealed."  Keith chuckles a little at his own expense this time, but when he looks back at Lance, the indignation has melted from his expression, leaving something strangely fond.

His hands are on his hips, Keith's pants slung low on his lithe frame, and his skin looks smooth and soft.  He's still muscular, from farm work and piloting.  And unlike his tense posture in the hallway, his shoulders are relaxed, his hip cocked easy to the side.  His eyes are on Keith, and their gazes meet.  Lance smirks, and suddenly—

See something you like, hotshot?

—Keith feels warmth flood his cheeks, and he turns around to stuff his mom's harness back into his duffel bag.  The way he was looking at Lance just now definitely qualified as checking him out , and this is neither the time nor the place.

"Anyway," he says, "that was the only set of spares I brought.  All I have left is stuff for the wedding."

Lance hums, and Keith can still hear the smirk on his face.  "Something tells me you don't really mind."

Keith doesn't acknowledge Lance's words, but he does allow himself a small smile, that Lance can't see.

After all, he's not wrong.

But Keith won't admit that, not when Lance is half-naked in his hotel room the night before Shiro's wedding.  He and Lance… are obviously closer than regular comrades, and the heat between them has been at a low simmer over a year.  But they're still so far away from each other.  Lance has come a long way, and so has Keith, but neither of them really know what they want, do they?

With one exception:

"So," he says, turning back around to face Lance, a spark in his eyes.  "How are we going to get back at Sylvio?"

Lance's smirk becomes an all out grin.

⚞  6  ⚟

Keith has been lying to himself.

He knows exactly what he wants.  What he's wanted for years.  What he's craved, yearned for.  What he's been sure he could never have.  Never keep.

He knows, because it's appearing before him, now, at the brink of death.

"Keith!"

Lance —

beautiful, earnest Lance, in shining armor, New Altean — Special Weapons And Tactics unit?

— kneels at his side, amidst the rubble and sparks from the wires that were severed in the explosion.  He touches Keith with careful, gloved hands, looks at him with those sharp, analytical eyes.  Probably sees all the blood that Keith can't keep in his body.

This glowing effigy of Lance isn't real, right?  Keith hasn't seen Lance in months.

But he's happy to see him anyway.

"Keith, fuck—"

"Lance,"

"Shit, this isn't good—"

"Pretty sure this is the weirdest thing I've seen you in, yet."

"Dude, hang in there, stay with me!"

"It suits you."

"You're— Wait, what's that supposed to mean?!"

"You look…" Lance is doing something, touching Keith's body, but Keith can't tell what he's doing.  He's in too much pain, every part of his body is indistinct, mixed up with every other part.  Lance begins to swirl in his vision, and Keith feels nauseated but too tired to do anything about it.  Lance's visage begins to fade.

"…Keith—?  Keith, how do I look?  C'mon buddy."

He opens his eyes.  Is that why his vision had faded?  Oh.  Lance.  Lance looks… "…Good.  Like a hero.  Really…" Like the most wonderful, perfect thing Keith could possibly see before he dies.  "…good."

Lance's face contorts, and Keith doesn't know whether it's his vision again or if Lance actually looks like his heart is being wrenched out.  If he's a figment of Keith's subconscious, shouldn't he look however Keith wants him to look?  Keith wants him to look happy.

"I wanna tell you to shut up," Lance says, "but it's probably better if you stay conscious so, keep talking.  What do you wanna see me in next?"

Next?  God, why does it matter?  "Don't care," Keith answers.  He's so tired.  "Just… wanna see you."

"Oh my god— Keith— !"

—

Keith wakes up.

This, in itself, is a surprise.  The last time the world faded out, he'd been sure it would never fade back in.

And yet, here he is, stumbling out of a pod, no idea where he is, woozy and cold and confused.

"Commander Kogane," a doctor in a Blade uniform approaches him.  A Marmora base, then.

"What happened?" Keith croaks out.  His limbs feel heavy and his joints feel stiff.  He must have been in the pod for a while.

The doctor knows better than to touch him.  Good.  Instead, he grabs the holopad with Keith's treatment chart on it and cedes it to Keith's outstretched hand.  "You've been in med-stasis for four quintants, sir.  You sustained a broken left tibia, right radius, fractured right trapezium and clavicle, four broken ribs, a punctured lung, and significant internal bleeding.  You also sustained a grade 2 concussion.  Sir."

Fantastic, but that's not really what Keith was trying to ask.  "Thank you for stabilizing me," He says anyway.  "Who filed the mission report?"  Who brought him in?

The Blade doctor crosses his arms, hunched.  "I don't know," he replies.  "It may have been Lieutenant Acxa.  I wasn't on shift when you were brought in, but the record states that she was here.  She was accompanied by a member of the New Altean SWAT team."

Keith's neck and shoulders go stiff, and his breath stops.

He remembers seeing the New Altean SWAT armour, but he'd thought that was just a hallucination from blood loss and asphyxiation.

He remembers the armour being on—

Was he hallucinating that it was Lance?  Or was Lance really there?

"Thank you, Corporal," Keith says, passing the holopad back to the doctor.

—

"Yes, the Blue Paladin was there," Acxa reports, her voice over comms as steadfast and colourless as ever.  A sharp contrast to the whirlwhind of feeling that unfolds within Keith upon her words.  "Reinforcements from New Altea arrived shortly after we received your report on the location of the explosives.  I was under the impression that you were the one who called for them."

Keith shakes his head.  "I didn't.  You let them in without proper authorization?"  That was dangerous!  The Blade operatives were supposed to be the only ones in the area, for safety.

Acxa raises an eyebrow, which expresses far more of her feelings than her tone.  "With all due respect, sir, the Blue Paladin was obviously not interested in waiting for authorization."

"What?" Keith's brows furrow.  "What did he say?"

"He used a great many Terran curse words, and called you several variants of 'idiot,' sir."

Keith sighs.  Of course he did.  "What about the Galra insurgents?"

"He and his team apprehended them."

"All of them?"

"All of them that we were aware of."  Acxa crosses her arms and leans back, tipping her chin up.  "What's more, he brought them all out alive.  Some with more laser punctures than others, but alive nonetheless.  They're currently being held in Coalition detainment facility Beta-8, where they will face trial, as per the Alliance's policy."

Keith exhales a tense breath.  "…And Lance?"

Acxa's eyes pierce his own, flat and sharp, cutting right through him.  "…He cleared a path for a pod to get to you.  You couldn't be moved in your condition; debris had—"

"Punctured a lung, right."

"Yes.  He personally escorted the pod to the nearest Blade base, which is where you currently are.  Even when I arrived, he refused to leave.  When the doctors finished calibrating your treatment and reported that you would be in stasis for several quintants, he wanted to stay on the base.  It took myself, three doctors, and Zethrid to make him leave."

Keith's heart thumps a hard beat in his chest.  Lance wanted…   His fingers tense against the control pad, and his jaw clenches.  "You could have let him stay."

"Keith," Acxa says.  Her voice finally shows texture — a slight softness, the barest hint of gentleness — which is how Keith knows exactly what she's about to say.  "He is not Galra."

Keith knows that.  But he wants Lance to be an exception.  Lance is an exception.  To everything.

"Did he return to New Altea?" Keith asks.

"I don't know, sir."

—

Lance's communicator is turned off.  Keith has tried contacting it at least a dozen times, with only greater disappointment after each attempt.  He made it back to the Wolvenfang , and wasted no time heading toward New Altea.  It's only a couple of Alliance Warp Checkpoints away, and after he gets through the last AWC he makes contact with Coran.

"Oh!  Hello Number Four.  What a surprise!  I heard you were still in a pod."

Keith smiles, hearing that familiar, genuine concern.  "I got out this morning.  I just wanted… Did Lance return to New Altea with the rest of the SWAT unit?"

"Ahhh," Coran twirls his mustache, and enters a trance of deep thought.  "I don't believe he did, actually.  He's slipperier than a Gliebian Foxalt these days."

"When did he join the team?" Keith can't help but ask.

"About a month ago," Coran says.  "Took to the new sniper gear like a snorfle to brumbow.  I thought it would take him longer to get acclimated, but the boy sees something he knows is right and just does it!  Natural leader for his unit."

Not only is he part of the SWAT team, he's the leader of his unit.  Wow.  "Does he go off on his own like this a lot?"

"Well, he does march to his own tune now and then, but I can't say I recall him ever turning his comms off like this."

Keith sighs.  "So you have no idea where he went, either?"

"I'm afraid not, my boy."

—

Keith tries the Galaxy Garrison next, thinking maybe Lance went to report to Shiro personally.  It wouldn't be the first time Lance went to him for a report, or just for companionship when something serious happened.  But Shiro hasn't seen him.

Keith calls Hunk and Pidge, but neither of them have seen Lance, either.

He tries Cuba, but Lance's family haven't heard from him since he turned off his comms, either.  All they're able to tell Keith is that Lance said he'd be with Keith for a few days, and that they're as surprised that Lance isn't with Keith as Keith is that Lance isn't with them.

Frustrated, tired, and a little worried, Keith tries every other place he can think of that Lance might be.

He tries that one beach on LaTu that Lance likes, the seafood restaurant on Montressor, the botanical garden on Kepler-452b.

He tries Orla'an canyon.  He's staring out at the red wasteland beyond the canyon, wondering why he'd think Lance would come here, when he realizes.

He said he'd be with Keith for a few days.

He really is several variants of 'idiot.'

⚞  7  ⚟

He palms the lock to his home on New Daibazaal.  Almost immediately, a flash of blue fur greets him.  In the face.

"Kosmo!"  Two voices yell at once.  Keith's, and…

"You'd better not be on the roof again, I swear I'll—"

Lance appears in the entryway, rumpled and soft, in an old black shirt that Keith recognizes as his own, and a pair of his laziest joggers.  Lance is in his house.  Wearing his clothes.  Taking care of his wolf.  Lance is here.

"Keith," Lance makes his way forward, never taking his eyes off Keith.  "Keith!  You're back!  I thought you were supposed to be in the pod for another day.  Kosmo, come on, let him breathe."

Keith can't help the smile that spreads across his face.  Kosmo is pressing all his weight against Keith's front, and — Keith is still weak, but it's not enough to knock him over — it's as close to a hug as Kosmo ever gives him.  Kosmo is happy to see him, and Lance is here .  "Lance," he starts.  "Have you been here this whole time?"

"Well, no," Lance replies, tugging Kosmo backward a little by the scruff of his neck, a move that no one but Lance and Krolia can get away with.  Keith is finally able to move further into the house as Lance explains.  "I tried to stay with you on the base, but Acxa and Zethrid wouldn't let me.  So I came here.  Kosmo let me in.  I… You said you wanted to see me, and I figured this is where you would come when you got out of the pod, so—"

Lance looks like he's going to keep explaining himself, but Keith has heard enough.  He keeps moving forward, past Kosmo, until Lance is walking backward, leaning back, because Keith is right up in his space.

"K-Keith—?"

Keith grabs Lance, and pulls him close to his chest.  "Lance," he says, breathless with the relief of finally holding Lance in his arms.

It's a firm embrace, just shy of desperate, the way Keith wraps himself around Lance's body.  Lance returns the hug fiercely.  It feels good, and solid, and raw, like an invisible wall has been destroyed with the last bit of space between them.  Keith tips his head against Lance's, aching for as much contact as possible.  When he feels Lance nuzzle back against him, a little shudder goes through him and he grips Lance that much harder.

He pulls back just enough to slip his hands up to Lance's jaw.  "Lance," he says again, meeting his gaze with heat, and then he slips forward that short breath to capture Lance's lips with his own.

Lance moves with him, warm and eager.  Keith grasps at his shirt, the softness of the fabric.  The fervent want of Lance's tongue against his own.  The hard press of Lance's body, as he reciprocates Keith's affection.

When they break, all wet lips and hot breath, Keith tells Lance.  "I wanna see you in everything," he says.  "And nothing.  And a lot more often."

"Geez mullet," Lance smiles.  Keith can feel the shape of it against his own mouth.  "Almost sounds like you wanna date me or something."

"Yeah, so what if I do?"  Keith is smiling too, and then they're kissing again, embracing each other's smiles in the joy and relief of a mutual desire finally fulfilled.

"'Bout time," Lance murmurs.  "I've wanted to date you for years ."  He slips another kiss against Keith's lips, and then his tone turns a little solemn as he nudges his nose and forehead against Keith's.  "Almost thought I lost my chance, a few days ago."

This closeness, this warmth, it's addictive already.  "Sorry about that," Keith says.

"I told you there was something fishy about that intel," Lance smacks Keith's arm lightly, but makes no move to put any space between them.  Rather, he pulls Keith tighter against him.  It feels so good, so right, Keith can endure a little chiding to keep Lance in his arms. "If there were no signs of premature detonations, the civilians shouldn't have had any idea what the explosives were.  It had to be a trap.  I told you not to go."

Keith sighs, closing his eyes and just feeling Lance here with him.  "Good thing you were there to save me."

Lance does not seem appeased.  "What if I'm not next time, huh?"

"What if you are ?"

"What?"

When Keith opens his eyes again, he looks into Lance's with a spark of determined inspiration.  "What if you're there for me every time?"  Lance's mouth falls open, like he hears what Keith is trying to say but can't quite believe it.  Keith decides to be frank.  "Be my partner, Lance."

Keith can feel Lance's sharp gasp.  "I… I can't join the Blades, you know that."

"Then I'll join the New Altean guard."

"That's stupid, the Blades need you."

"I need you ."

" Keith —"

Keith kisses Lance again, passionately, tenderly.  As if he can convince Lance how they belong together by osmosis.  He licks into Lance's mouth, pulls Lance's tongue into his own.  Blurs the lines between their bodies until he can feel Lance's heartbeat, in drumming in sync with his own.  And the intensity — The last time he felt anything like this was when he and Lance formed the wings of Voltron, years ago.

When Keith pulls back, Lance's lips are red, shining.  He's breathless, and looking at Keith the way he looked at Cuba for the first time after the war ended.  Like he was finally allowed to go home.  "Okay," he says.

"Okay," Keith agrees.

⚞  8  ⚟

The metal tiling under Keith's feet looks as unwelcoming now as it did when he was a cadet.  Somehow, the feeling he gets from the Garrison never changes, even though his role here seems to be ever shifting, like the dunes in the desert.

When he gets to Shiro's office, he doesn't even bother knocking.  He knows who Shiro is with, and even if he weren't welcome he wouldn't really care.

The door slides open, and his eyes immediately find Lance.

He's as handsome as ever — smooth skin on the sharp angles of his face, soft hair neatly coiffed, blue eyes alight with happy recognition as Keith strides into the room.  He stands, and Keith unabashedly looks him up and down.  The dark grey uniform is well-fitted, accentuating his slim hips and broad shoulders, decorated by three golden stripes.

"Lieutenant commander," Keith greets.

"Hey babe," Lance returns, a crooked little smile tugging the corner of his lips.

"The uniform looks good on him," Shiro says, "doesn't it?"

It does, but, "Hmm… I prefer him out of it."  He smirks, maintaining eye contact with Lance.

Lance snickers, and Shiro groans.  "Keep it out of my office, boys," the latter says.  "You're worse than teenagers."

"Eh," Lance shrugs, waving a careless hand.  "You can deal with it for a day."

"Maybe so," Shiro gives them both his tired of your shit look, "but don't go saying that kind of stuff in front of the cadets, okay?"

"Relax, Shiro," Keith says.  And he really means it.  "We'll be good.  You know we wanna do this right."

After a moment, the tension loosens from Shiro's shoulders again, and he sighs.  "Yeah.  Okay.  They should be lining up now.  You guys ready to meet them?"

"They've heard about the gist of the internship program already?"  Keith asks.

Shiro nods.  "Yep."

"Cool.  Let's do this."

⚞  end  ⚟