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Keith dodged Lance’s elbow, which was hurling toward his shoulder, He dropped down and hit the floor of the Training Deck with practiced ease as Lance lunged forward. His momentum carried him a little too far, just enough for Keith to spin around him like a shadow. In a blur, Keith's hand twisted the holographic knife in his grip, a hit towards Lance’s Achilles tendon.
The room lit up in red, signaling Keith’s 4th win in a row.
“Damn it,” Lance muttered under his parted lips–panting, already anticipating the smug look waiting for him when he turned around.
Keith straightened up, barely out of breath. “You’re getting better with hand-to-hand combat,” he said, and it was almost kind.
“Wow, thanks for the encouragement,” Lance muttered, bitter from being tossed around, rolling his eyes as he shoved the training dagger into its sheath. “Pretty sure you cheated.”
Keith tilted his head, clearly amused. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true!” Lance snapped—but the edge of his voice faltered when a sudden draft brought the scent of something unmistakably delicious from the vents overhead. He sniffed the air, his focus immediately rerouted. “Wait. Is that—Hunk’s cooking?”
Keith raised an eyebrow. “Does that mean you’re done?”
“I’d rather eat lunch than get my ass whooped again,” Lance said, already halfway out the door with a peace sign thrown lazily over his shoulder.
He tried not to stick around for Keith’s reply, but he heard it anyway. “Same time tomorrow?”
Lance hesitated just outside the Training Deck, rubbing the back of his neck. His muscles ached, his pride stung, and his heart was trying to punch its way out of his ribcage.
“Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than to Keith. “Same time tomorrow.”
The hallway was quiet, a welcome break from the near-constant sound of impact and instruction that filled the Training Deck. Lance walked slowly, despite his rush for food. His body was exhausted, but it wasn’t just the training that had worn him out.
It was Keith.
Lance knew he sucked at close combat. He’d always been better at a distance—sniper precision, long-range timing, letting his scope and instincts guide him from the safety of cover. That was his lane. That was his thing. He had no business sparring in close quarters with someone like Keith.
Keith, who smelled stupidly good even when he was drenched in sweat. Keith, whose hair always managed to fall just right, even when he was flipping Lance onto his back like it was nothing. Keith, whose body moved like water and fire at the same time, like every muscle in him knew exactly what it was doing and wasn’t shy about showing it.
It was rude, honestly.
And it wasn’t just the physical stuff. No—what really wrecked Lance was the way Keith looked at him. Focused. Sharp. Sometimes amused. Sometimes so intense that it made Lance forget what air was. The worst were those few moments when Keith pinned him, their faces inches apart, the ghost of his breath brushing Lance’s cheek, and that damn knife buzzing with red light at Lance’s throat.
Lance always laughed it off—some cocky comment or fake groan about cheating—but inside, he was a mess.
He was losing every sparring match, not because he was terrible at hand-to-hand combat. Okay, partially because of that. But mostly because Keith made him forget what the hell he was doing the second they started. It was a disaster. A humiliating, fast-burning disaster.
And it was getting worse.
Every sparring session felt more charged than the last. Keith got more comfortable, more casual, talking to him between matches, handing him water bottles without asking, brushing past him in the locker room like it didn’t short-circuit Lance’s entire brain. Keith had barely spoken to him before he was assigned to teach him combat.
It wasn’t fair. Keith didn’t even know what he was doing to him. Or—worse—he did. That thought made Lance nearly trip over his own feet as he reached the dining hall. What if Keith knew? What if Keith had noticed the way Lance froze every time he got pinned, or the way his face turned red whenever their arms brushed?
Was that why he kept scheduling training? Was this some twisted form of flirting? Or was Lance just a fool who was baking a slow, shame-filled cake of yearning and embarrassment—and Keith hadn’t even noticed it was in the oven?
He slumped into a seat beside Hunk, who gave him a look as he slid a bowl of steaming food in front of him.
“You look like you died and came back wrong,” Hunk said.
“Thanks,” Lance said, stabbing dramatically at his lunch. “Glad to know I’m radiating defeat.”
“You lose to Keith again?”
Lance groaned into his food. “Please don’t say his name. My dignity’s still bleeding out on the training floor.”
Hunk raised an eyebrow. “Is that really why you look like that?”
Lance didn’t answer his best friend. He just let his forehead fall to the table with a muffled thud.
Keith trained constantly; every day they didn't have a mission, he was on the Training Deck. So when Coran practically begged Keith to train Lance after a near-death accident– Keith didn’t say no. At first, he said maybe, but obviously ended up saying yes.
Now he and Lance had a set time, or rather, Keith forced Lance to come at a certain time, and Lance knew it was an obligation.
Lance was terrible at combat but outshone Keith in anything long-distance. The reason Keith had mildly avoided him at the beginning was that Lance was so damn attractive that Keith choked on his own words
But the more that Lance embarrassed himself and pulled a laugh from Keith, the more he enjoyed the company.
It was becoming fun
It was the first brush of joy that Keith had experienced since he decided to board the Garrison. Not only was it joy, but it was also affection, bubbling up beneath the surface of Keith's guarded brain.
Lance was so beautiful to him, and he decided that the infatuation was the feeling of finally having a close friend on the ship.
Keith did mull the idea over in his mind a couple of times (Of liking Lance)
Okay. Many, many times. But who had to know that?
Lance showed up to the training deck the next day—earlier than usual. Not because he was eager to get pummeled again, but because he’d spent half the night tossing and turning, replaying the last match in his head like it was a damn rom-com with an audience laugh track made up entirely of his inner shame.
He’d convinced himself that today would be different. He’d be focused. Composed. Zen.
But the moment Keith turned around, something was off. Keith was in his head; he looked distant.
“Hey,” Lance said carefully, grabbing a training dagger off the rack.
Keith gave a short nod, eyes flickering toward him but never really meeting his gaze. “Ready?”
That was it. No teasing. No “hope you brought a better mindset.” Nothing.
“Sure,” Lance muttered, uncertain.
They started sparring—and it was clear Keith wasn’t holding back today. Every strike came faster. Every move, more precise. Lance found himself scrambling to keep up, ducking just a second too late, stumbling out of balance more than once. Keith didn’t even mock him for it. He just kept pushing. It didn’t feel like training. It felt like an ambush. And Lance had no idea why he was getting this hostility.
He blocked a high kick, barely, and spun around to reset his stance—but Keith was already behind him, sweeping his legs out from under him and slamming him down onto the mat with a force that knocked the breath out of his lungs.
Before Lance could recover, Keith was on top of him, straddling his hips and pressing the cool edge of the holographic blade to his collarbone.
The room lit up red.
Match over.
But Keith didn’t move.
His face was inches away, his breath brushing against Lance’s cheek in shallow bursts. His hair hung forward, damp and disheveled. His eyes—dark and unreadable—were fixed on Lance like he was trying to solve him.
Lance’s heart punched against his ribs.
He could feel the weight of Keith’s thighs against his hips. The heat of his body pressed flush against his own. And then—
Then it happened.
He felt it. Oh, no.
Lance felt the unmistakable tightening of his suit, and as soon as he moved to shove Keith off, Keith rocked his hips.
Lance went frigid. “Keith.”
“Lance?” Keith panted mildly, looking more out of breath than ever. Even when they spared.
Keith's body inched forward again. Lance’s breath hitched in sync. The training room blared red, but Keith was engulfed by the image below him. Lance was enthralling and leaving Keith breathless as his brain fumbled over his next move. Lance might not have known it, but he was panting–his chest rose and fell quickly as ragged breaths left him. Peach pink flushed on tan cheeks, traveling all the way up to his ears. His eyes, wide and searching, were trying to take in the moment by darting around Keith's face.
Keith leaned down, testing the waters, only for Lance to grab his face and pull him into a desperate kiss. Lance whipped back fast. “I'm sorry, are you okay wi–” He didn’t get to finish because Keith had his hands on his collar and was pulling him into a melting kiss.
“Kiss me,” Keith said hoarsely and rocked his hips. Lance’s fingers squeezed his hips as he sat them up and let Keith straddle his kneeling position. Their lips met in the middle as they clashed together.
Keith made a strangled noise, and Lance broke the kiss off to place a line of love bites down his neck and unzipped Keith's suit. His hands felt up Keith's chest slowly so that if he was crossing a boundary, Keith would stop him.
But Keith never did, instead wrapping his arms around Lance and gasping into his ear at the slightest sensations, his body twitching, touch-starved. Lance could work with that.
Keith arched into him, and Lance caught him in a kiss again before pushing him down to the training deck floor and sliding down his body to catch Keith's bulge in a kiss. Keith’s hands flew to Lance’s hair, and he shuddered, letting out a soft fuck before– “Lance– I’m pretty sure there are cameras in here.”
“Do you care?”
Keith glanced down and propped himself up on his elbows on the hard floor. He mulled it over in his brain, “No.”
“Good,” Lance muttered before taking off Keith's pants and undergarments. He ran a hand up the shaft and applied just enough pressure on his frenulum so that Keith could feel him. Keith let out a whine; he literally whined as Lance's tongue drew a line along his cock. Keith wasn’t wasn’t one to consider himself sensitive or loud, but the second lance’s hands were on that part of his body it was as if his nerve endings were being fried, he had dreamt of this moment (not on purpose of course) and now it was happening, lance was touching him and feeling him and had him moaning and writhing and–
“Talk to me, Keith.”
“It’s good– I’m good,” He panted, coming back down to earth as he watched as Lance suddenly took him into his mouth. Lance swallowed his entirety right down until his nose was flush against his pubic hairs. Keith's face lit up a brighter red, if that was possible and he stared into Lance's bright blue eyes. Lance was looking at him like a predator, like he wanted to consume him, and Keith had to see more. Keith's chest was rising with his deep breaths but falling fast, his lips parted as he took his hand to Lance's hair and pushed back mildly to see his face. Keith looked mesmerized, “You look so fucking good right now.”
The bit of encouragement allowed Lance to pull away, he choked and teased around– licking Keith’s thighs as he looked at him hungrily, waiting, stalking his movements with his eyes as he let out low “haaah..”’s
Lance watched Keith grow impatient, waited until right before he was going to say something, to finally began sucking him off. As Lance did this, his fingers played with the rim of Keith's backside, pushing a wet finger into him to stimulate both sides. Keith arched and his full body shivered as he panted, “Mnngh…” He moaned, trying to suppress the noise. “Fuck–Lance,” he gasped out. He was coming close, Lance’s finger stimulating his prostate from within, and Lance's lips on him, overstimulating him.
“Shit.”
Lance hums around him before slowing entirely as Keith’s hips begin to buck. “Lance–Lance wha–” he panted, gripping his hair.
“Shh… shh,” Lance muttered and then went back to it, bringing Keith to the edge just to tear him down and stop when he’s close. Keith had never felt this type of pleasure; he felt as if his senses were heightened, every nerve tingling with anticipation, his body craving the finish it’d been denied too many times. His skin was sending electric sparks through him as his prostate ached with overuse; it was a delicious agony. Keith arched beneath Lance, a tremor running down his spine. His breath hitched, caught somewhere between a moan and a gasp. “Mnngh…” He bit down on the sound, but it still escaped, raw and needy. “Fuck—Lance,” he managed, voice wrecked with desperation.
He was close. So close it hurt. Lance had him unraveling piece by piece, with one hand guiding him mercilessly toward the edge and the other pulling him back just as he was about to fall. His lips, warm and maddeningly soft, ghosted over sensitive skin, while his fingers worked with cruel precision, drawing out pleasure and denying its release all in the same breath.
Keith’s hips bucked involuntarily, seeking friction, seeking finish—anything—but Lance slowed, deliberately, tormentingly. His lips stilled, and the hand that had been Keith’s lifeline to release paused. Keith choked on a half-sob, fingers diving into Lance’s hair. “Lance—Lance, what the hell—” he panted, breathless, strung out like a live current waiting for grounding. Only for lance to start from the top again.
Time blurred. Keith’s heart pounded in his ears, and every brush of skin felt sharper, more vivid. He’d never felt like this before—like his entire body was waiting on a moment that kept slipping just out of reach. It wasn’t just the touch; it was the way Lance watched him. Like he could see right through him, into every place Keith kept guarded. By the third time Lance pulled him back from the edge, Keith couldn’t take it anymore. He yanked Lance up with a ragged breath, his voice raw and trembling. “Lance. I swear—if you do that again…”
Lance smirked and licked up his dick, causing it to twitch painfully. Keith's cock was red at the tip and shaking with the slightest blow of air. Lance's hand moved diligently in Keith’s counterpart's, and he himself was getting off on watching Keith’s cocky I'm good at everything’ essence crumble. “Okay, Okay.”
Keith was trembling—utterly consumed, overwhelmed, and unraveling beneath the weight of sensation. His breath hitched in his throat with every passing second, every nerve in his body lit up like a live wire as Lance pushed him closer and closer to the brink. Each stroke was more devastating than the last, building on a relentless crescendo that left him dizzy and gasping. It wasn’t just pleasure; it was release after endless, aching denial.
It felt like he'd been starved for years, every inch of restraint stripped raw, and now, finally—finally—Lance was permitting him to let go. The anticipation twisted inside him like a coil pulled too tight. His legs shook beneath him, muscles taut, locked in the unbearable tension that comes right before collapse. His chest heaved with ragged, shuddering breaths, lungs struggling to keep up with the storm raging through him.
When Keith finally keeled over, he let out a shout and held Lance's head flush to his abdomen. He gasped for air and twitched, bucking his hips instinctively as lance swallowed around him.
“Fuck..” Keith shuddered.
Lance left the Training Deck sweating for a different reason, and he definitely wasn’t wafting off defeat this time.