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“Get half pepperoni. You know I hate Canadian bacon and pineapple.”
“I don't know why,” Pidge calls over their shoulder to Keith in the kitchen. “It's good!”
“Pineapple on pizza isn't normal, Pidge!” Keith calls back, rummaging through the fridge for a bit before finding two sodas in the very back. He pulls them out, closing the door with his hip and making his way back into the living room. “It's an insult. An abomination. No sane person eats pineapple on pizza.”
“ I eat pineapple on pizza,” Pidge mutters, checking the pepperoni box on the screen in front of them.
“Like I said, no sane person eats pineapple on pizza.”
Pidge snorts as Keith climbs over the back of the couch, settling in beside them and holding out one of the sodas. Pidge takes it, popping the top with one hand and taking a sip without even looking away from the screen.
“So I have a half pepperoni and half Canadian bacon and pineapple with a side of cheese bread. Yeah?”
“Sounds good.”
Pidge grins, wicked and conniving, typing something out quickly before hitting the ‘order’ button. Keith raises an eyebrow.
“What.... what did you do?”
“Hm? Nothing.” It's said too quickly, and much too casually, and Keith doesn't buy it for a second.
He says, “No, you definitely did something,” and he leans across the couch, practically crawling over Pidge in order to see the screen. Pidge squeals, maneuvering themselves so they’re pushing Keith off of them, hands pushing against his cheeks and knees in his stomach as he attempted to flatten himself to reach the laptop. “Let me see the screen!”
“Fine!” Pidge cries. “But it's too late to stop it now!”
“Stop what?!” Keith asks, and Pidge drops their knees, causing him to flip onto his stomach and nearly flail his way off the couch.
The order is displayed on the screen in front of him, followed by their address and names and method of payment. But below that, in the suggestion box, written in clear text, is the phrase: “send your cutest delivery boy.”
Keith stares for a minute before turning to Pidge, actually falling off of the couch this time. He looks up from his place on the floor, pointing to the screen in disbelief. “What the hell is that?!”
Pidge grins. “It's exactly what it looks like.”
“You can't just do that!” Keith cries. “What if they think it's me?! I'll never be able to order from this place again! Is this payback for the pineapple on pizza comment?!”
Pidge rolls their eyes. “Oh, stop. This is for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah,” Pidge says, grin turning into a smirk. “You were drooling over that beautiful Swedish actor in that last movie we watched tonight. And you couldn't even understand a word he was saying. You haven't been on a date in how long?” They pause, shaking their head. “You need a boyfriend, my dude.”
“I don't need anything,” Keith continues to insist.
“Well it's too late to change it now,” Pidge shrugs. Keith groans, supposing Pidge is right.
He’s going to have to look for a new pizza place.
Nearly 30 minutes later Keith is staring at the clock, waiting for the doorbell to ring. He counts down the seconds, waiting for the half-hour mark so he can get his free pizza.
There's a knock at the door, and Keith scrambles to get up. Pidge calls out to them from down the hallway.
“Get that, yeah? I'm in the bathroom!”
“You're lying so I'll answer the door is what you're doing!” Keith calls back, and Pidge’s cackle from the other side of the apartment is answer enough for him. He shakes his head as he unlocks the door, pulling out his wallet as he does. “So you didn't make the 30 minute mark. So that means the pizza is free right-?”
He stops short, jaw dropping.
The delivery boy is in front of him, leaning against the doorway with a pizza in hand. His hat is turned backwards, a rose hanging from between his teeth. He pulls the rose from between his lips, smiling and flipping his bangs out of his eyes.
“Why hello beautif-”
He catches Keith's eyes, giving him a once over and humming thoughtfully.
“Oh, you're a dude.” He clears his throat, unphased, repositioning himself and repeating his grand gesture all over again. “Well hello handsome. Someone called for the cutest and most wonderful delivery boy ever?”
Keith chokes, unsure whether to blush or to laugh. He settles for both.
“Uh, my friend did. But... yeah. I see they settled for you?”
The delivery boy nearly falls over as he squawks, “What?! Settled? I’ll have you know I'm the most handsome delivery boy we have!”
“Every time I order from you guys you're the one that delivers. Aren't you the only delivery boy they have-” Keith leans forward, checking out the nametag pinned to the guy’s chest, “- Lance ?”
Lance nearly drops the pizza, his ears turning pink. “That's beside the point!” He cries, pointing at Keith. “And the point is... The point still stands!”
Keith smirks, leaning against his doorframe and pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. He tries to hide the fact that his fingers are shaking, and his legs feel like lead. Whether it’s due to embarrassment or that fact that this guy is actually really fucking cute, he isn’t sure.
“So,” he says, feigning casualty, “you never answered my question.”
“What question?” Lance asks, shifting the pizza in his hand and pulling out a receipt, placing it on top of the box. He holds the box in front of him like a desk, receipt and a pen on top.
“It took you over 30 minutes. So it should be free. You shouldn’t run my card when you get back.”
“Ah,” Lance says, grinning. Keith’s heart stutters. “But that’s not true.”
“Yes it is, I timed it.”
“So did I,” Lance says, shoving the pizza box at Keith and digging out his phone. He pulls up his stopwatch app. “29 minutes and 54 seconds. Still technically under 30, still gotta pay.”
The grin he gives Keith nearly makes his insides melt. So he frowns, pushing those thoughts aside as he begrudgingly signs the receipt.
“You know,” he says, dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s, “I could just take this pizza into the house right now and slam the door in your face.”
Lance’s eyes widen, and he scrambles for the receipt. “No! No you can’t do that. I have your credit card stuff back at the shop I can just-”
He catches the grin Keith is giving him, and stops. He narrows his eyes, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh. Oooooh, ha ha. Very funny. Very funny okay, alright, give me the receipt, ya nerd.” He nods as he looks over the signature. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Keith Kogane.”
Keith tries to ignore the way his heart trips over itself at the sound of Lance saying his name. He hums in response and makes a show of checking the pizza, hiding behind the lid of the box.
“Is there anything else that you want, then?” Lance asks, and Keith snaps the lid of the box closed.
“Yeah, you can leave.” His insult holds no real heat to it, and he hopes Lance knows that. Judging by the smirk Lance gives him, he’s pretty sure he does. He steps backward off of Keith’s front porch step, giving him a two-finger salute and stuffing his receipt in his jacket pocket.
“Hasta la later, Keith,” Lance calls, pulling his hood up to block out the wind as he jogs back to the delivery car.
Keith bites his bottom lip, closing the front door with his hip and turning back to the living room. Pidge stands in front of him, arms crossed, smirking.
“Looks like you might get laid after all.”
“Shut up, Pidge.”
It’s nearly 2 weeks before Keith orders from the shop again.
He drops his bag on the couch beside him, letting his head fall backward to rest against the cushion. He thinks about his options, about going out to get something or actually cooking, and decides both sound like a horrible time due to the fact that he barely wants to move from his spot on the couch.
Delivery it is.
He whines a bit to himself as he pulls his laptop off of the coffee table, not wanting to go through the effort of moving. But he opens it anyway, typing in an order for pasta since he knows he won’t be able to eat an entire pizza by himself. He clicks on his cart, adds his credit card information, and pauses.
He leaves the cute delivery boy message that Pidge had entered the last time they were here.
31 minutes and 23 seconds later, his doorbell rings.
Keith practically vaults off of the couch, checking his hair in the hallways mirror before sliding in front of his front door and opening it. He feigns casualty, as if he hasn’t been sitting here doing nothing but stare at his clock, and leans against the doorframe. A very unhappy Lance stares back.
“Just pay me.”
“31 minutes and 23 seconds. No way.”
“Listen I- there was a red light half way here and it’s pasta man it took a little longer to cook listen I just-”
“Nope,” Keith says, grinning like this was the best thing to happen to him all day. “You said, under 30 minutes or it’s free. And it’s been more than 30 minutes.”
Lance groans, letting his head fall forward to bump against the doorframe opposite Keith. “My boss is gonna kill me. There isn’t any way you’ll pay me?”
Keith makes a thoughtful noise. “I dunno. I am a fan of free food.”
Lance raises an eyebrow, pushing off of the doorframe and adjusting the box of pasta in his hand. “How about my number?”
Keith pauses.
Lance continues, a slow smirk inching across his face. He hums, tugging a pen out from behind his ear. “I’ll give you my number if you pay for this pasta.”
Keith snorts, a faint attempt to cover the way his stomach is tying itself into knots. “That’s prostitution.”
“There’s no sex involved. At least not yet.”
Lance’s smirk grows. Keith chokes.
“That’s bribery.”
“Only if it works.”
“I’m not that desperate.”
“Who said I’m not ?”
Keith laughs, a loud burst followed by stifled giggles, and he shakes his head as he holds out a hand. “Nice try, but I want the pasta more than I want the date.”
Lance sighs. “That’s fair. This is amazing pasta.”
“It is,” Keith agrees, and inches his hand forward. He hopes Lance can’t see his fingers shaking.
Lance ignores him, though, pulling the cap of the pen off with his teeth and scribbling something on the top of the box, shoving it at Keith and backing off the porch hurriedly. He waves, practically sprinting to his car.
Keith watches him go, confused, until he looks down at the box in his hand.
Written on the top in messy and nearly illegible handwriting is probably the worst pickup line Keith has ever heard, followed by a phone number.
I hope this isn’t too cheesy or anything.... But I couldn’t let the opportunity pasta me by. Call me.
Keith lets out another laugh as he closes the door.
“That was possibly the worst line I’ve ever heard. I cannot believe you.”
“It got you to call me though, didn’t it?”
“Mm. Fair point.”