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Chapter Text

Between the tender ages of twenty-four and twenty-six, Lance Mcclain has managed to lose or otherwise damage the same leg, not once - not twice - but five times running. An explosion, a well-placed shot from an exceptionally powerful blaster, a wayward sword-swipe, a hidden mine, a door closing too quickly before they could drag him all the way through. His prosthetic left leg has been through the ringer, and with the damage being extensive enough to require having the base reattached at least twice, it's fair to say that the experience has been kind of traumatic.

Pidge has playfully dubbed the phenomenon, Lance, but every time he loses a leg it happens sooner than the last time. And in an attempt to discourage Lance from deliberately putting the leg in harm's way just because it's fake (which he does, hence the phenomenon), and raise his spirits some, the Paladins have a betting pool going on how long he can keep the leg in tact.

This time, Lance wants to go back to Earth to visit his family and recuperate for a while.

And this time, Keith goes with him.

They both feel a little bad about it, like they're shirking their duties leaving the others alone in space, but Lance is too excited to be repentant for very long. He's having some trouble walking because of the residual pain and the thought of going back home has been a welcome distraction. He keeps talking about how he can't wait to be stretched out on a blanket under the warm sun; can't wait for running and swimming and breathing in the salt-heavy air of Varadero Beach; can't wait for the sporadic thunderstorms and cool dips in pressure because it is late May on Earth and it's his "favorite time of year, Keith, you're going to love it, we can even go hiking or something."

The wistfulness deepens his voice, eagerness pitching it back up, and every time he talks about it - throwing their clothes onto the bed to dig through them for the proper attire, wondering what to take, packing, and unpacking, and then repacking the same three cases - Keith feels something warm like static unfurl in his chest and he's smiling before he even realizes it.

But even as they're making their last preparations to leave, Keith can't help voicing his reservations. They've never gone on an extended stay away from the Castle. Not the both of them at once.

Allura is having none of it.

"There are no pressing matters to take care of," she says, both hands between Keith's shoulders as she forcibly marches him through the hanger to the shuttle he and Lance are taking, "And I can assure you, if any arise, we are more than capable of dealing with it ourselves."

"And if we aren't," Coran puts in jubilantly, "You're just a wormhole away!"

Keith adjusts his grip on the single case and the backpack that he's carrying. They're both relatively small compared to the three Lance is bringing, one of which Hunk is currently hoisting into the storage compartment of the shuttle. Lance is standing beside him, grinning ear-to-ear, holding the other case that is waiting to go in. He's got his weight on both feet, doesn't seem like he's favoring the prosthetic too much. Maybe it isn't hurting, or maybe he's too focused on their departure to notice if it is.

Either way, Keith feels the tension bleeding out of him at the sight of Lance bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

"You're right," he says.

Allura laughs in his ear, "Of course we're right."

She gives him one final push, takes the case and backpack from his hands. Keith doesn't fight her for them. He goes to pull himself up into the cockpit and finds Pidge sitting in his seat, fiddling with something under the dashboard. Their glasses flash as they glance up at him.

Keith lifts an eyebrow, hands braced on the side of the shuttle.

"And you are?"

"Updating the stereo?" Pidge says, twisting two wires between their thumb and forefinger, pulling out a small virtual panel and punching a series of codes into it.

"Pidge, don't rig this up with something weird. We don't need extra boosters to clear Earth's atmosphere - "

"These shuttles have been equipped with boosters that work perfectly fine without exploding for years, thank you very much. And it's nothing weird! It's just a joke."

"What's the joke?"

"You'll see?" Keith keeps frowning. Pidge stares him right in the face, snapping the panel closed, and says, "It's for Lance."

"....Fine." Keith turns his face away to watch Hunk putting the last case into the hold so he doesn't have to see the grin spreading across Pidge's face, hoping to hide the heat he feels creeping into his own. He's weak. It's kind of sad. "As long as it doesn't kill us."

"It's just a song. You'll live, I think."

Keith snorts a laugh and hops down to say his goodbyes, and Pidge clambours over the side of the shuttle after him. Allura has already pulled Lance down into a tight squeeze, making him assure her for the hundredth time that they will call at least every two quintants to check in. Hunk might have let the phrase "hurricane season" slip while they were planning this trip, so now both Alteans are concerned about Earth's unpredictable weather patterns - as if their own native planet didn't rain down the occasional light shower of rocks and brimstone, as if they haven't all experienced some wild and crazy, hostile environments during their years in space.

"Let us know when you get there." Pidge punches Lance's arm, points at Keith, "And say Hi to my dad! You are going to Havana, right?"

"That's the plan," Keith says.

Physically going to Earth is somewhat of a daunting task, in a way that visiting other planets that are more welcoming of intergalactic travelers is not. It's taken them weeks to even get the right amount of clearance from corresponding governments, institutions, and affiliates. They have to touch down in Havana, and undergo a series of tests and scans to make sure they aren't carrying any "dangerous pathogens" - as if they don't get scanned and vaccinated in the Castle on a bi-monthly basis, anyway. It's like getting your shots before going to another country. Standard.

Lance's prosthetic will cause a small riot of interest (and distrust, probably). Keith's Galra DNA might ping in the system and cause a huge delay while they verify that he is actually a native of Earth, born and raised in Arizona for 18 years of his life, even if it was jumping from foster to foster. They have all kinds of paperwork to provide and read and sign, and then after hours of all this they get a military escort to Varadero, where they will be assigned between two to four security details at any given time.

Keith already knows it's going to be a headache because Earth sucks in that particular way, but it's going to be worth it. If Lance gets to see his family and relax for a few weeks, then it's worth the headache. It's worth a hundred headaches.

"I'm gonna miss you guys," Hunk says, voice thick with emotion as he scoops both Lance and Keith into a bone-crunching hug, "Tell Momma 'Lain I love her and I miss her empanadas."

"I will, buddy."

Lance frees an arm to pat Hunk's back, and Hunk puts them on their feet again. At the sudden press of his weight, Lance's knee gives out on him for a second. He latches onto Keith's elbow and steadies himself with a jolt before the others notice. The smile on his face tightens a fraction. Keith lifts his hand to touch Lance's hip, and gets a reassuring squeeze on his arm before Lance is letting go, shifting his weight and standing at ease. Keith reluctantly pulls his hand back, not wanting to draw attention.

Lance claps his hands, a sharp sound that punches through the hanger.

"Alright, let's do this thing!" He turns, climbing up into the shuttle, gushing, "I love you guys, and space is awesome, but Varadero is calling my name. C'mon, babe, vacation time."

"Right behind you," Keith laughs, climbing up after him.

The shield of the shuttle closes them in with a flicker of tinted blue as they settle into their seats, muddling the last chorus of goodbyes and be carefuls from their teammates. Lance buckles his harness while Keith fires up the thrusters and checks all the readouts.

"Hey," Lance says. Keith hums an acknowledgement. He doesn't look up from what he's doing until Lance puts a hand on his arm. Lance is giving him a look that Keith recognizes instantly; he's worried he's forcing Keith into this, or somehow being a burden by wanting to make the trip. "Thanks for doing this for me. I know you're not as excited as me, and you're probably gonna be bored the whole time - "

"I'm excited, Lance," Keith says, lifting the corner of his mouth, "Trust me."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Lance's anxious smile relaxes into a big grin.

"It's just gonna be so great to see my family again," he says, retrieving his hand and sitting back, "Like really seeing them in person instead of just through the video chat. Being able to hug my mom, and pick up all my little nieces all at once and just squeeze them until they scream. Being on the beach. I miss the sun , Keith, and the grass, and the water, and - "

"And the garlic knots," Keith recites, because he has heard this same thing a hundred times over the past several days. He hasn't gotten tired of it, he just likes interjecting at the same point to tease Lance about repeating himself.

Lance grins at him, leaning forward in his seat.

"I definitely miss the garlic knots."

----

Most of their belongings get confiscated in Havana. Things like their soaps, and deodorants, all of Lance's skin-care creams, and even some of their clothes. Their tech would have been confiscated, too, if Pidge hadn't had the foresight to disguise their tablets and communicators as lots of extra toothbrushes and other harmless items. It looks like they're just really dedicated to dental hygiene instead of smuggling in alien technology. Lance is already in a bad mood because of it, and has slowed the entire process down a lot by arguing and banging his fist on the plexiglass.

"Literally none of that stuff is contaminated or dangerous! This synthetic cotton shirt is not going to mutate into some weird space pathogen when it meets oxygen, it lives in oxygen. We breathe oxygen every day on our ship in space, how do you think we've survived, cabrón!"

Keith doesn't understand right away why it's upsetting him so much, and watches with a small frown from his passive seat against the wall. They had expected this when they packed half of it, anyway. And they had ultimately decided that packing it, only to have it confiscated, would be better than not packing it at all and then - on the off chance that their stuff wasn't thoroughly ransacked - having to get it all again when they could have simply packed it in the first place.

Lance throws himself back into the seat next to him, and Keith takes a good long look at him. His jaw is clenched, his movements stiff and halting when he clasps his hands tightly between his knees, breath shuddering at it comes out. Pain pinches the corner of his eyes. Keith watches a bead of sweat slide down his temple and reaches out to touch his shoulder.

"Lance," he says quietly, not wanting to draw anyone else's attention. There's one lieutenant in the waiting room with them, standing at the door. "You okay?"

Keith thinks for a second that Lance is going to lie and say that he's fine when he's obviously not. Then Lance sighs and bows over his lap, resting his head in his hand and moving the other to squeeze his left leg near the base of his prosthetic. He lets out a small, reluctant groan. Keith rubs his hand across the back of Lance's shoulders to try and ease some of the tension in them.

"No…." Lance finally mumbles.

Keith is reaching into his jacket pocket before the word is out of Lance's mouth. He drops his other hand from Lance's shoulder to pick up the bottle of water between his feet. They both got physicals and blood exams earlier. Keith feels like he should have known Lance was in pain when he didn't want to eat anything, even if it was just a pack of crackers. He twists the cap off the water, glancing around as he takes Lance's pain medicine out of his pocket and sprays it into the water, quickly putting it away before the lieutenant spots him. 

It's different from the kind Lance normally takes. Condensing it into a spray makes it a little more potent, but when they had Keith empty his pockets and tested it earlier, it gave the innocuous reading of 'mint', so they had no reason to confiscate it.

Keith puts the cap back on and shakes the water bottle to activate the medicine. It's fizzy and light blue by the time he's done with it.

"Here," Keith says, holding it out to Lance. He patiently puts his hand on Lance's back again when he doesn't move to take it, "C'mon, Lance. It's like a two hour drive after we're done with this, if you take it now you can sleep on the way and you'll feel better when we get there."

Lance makes a couple of noises just for the sake of arguing, but sits upright and takes it from him. He drains the bottle in a few big gulps, his eyes squeezed shut against the texture and taste. He licks his lips afterward, catching the wayward foam at the corner of his mouth, and hands the bottle back to Keith with a grimace and a hazy look already creeping into his eyes. Lance shifts around in his seat, knees bumping against Keith's leg, and tucks his forehead into Keith shoulder.

He expels a huge sigh.

"Why does it have to taste like soap?" he complains, "It couldn't taste like bubblegum or raspberries or a banana milkshake or something?"

"Would an actual banana milkshake with real ice cream and bananas make you feel better?" Keith asks with a small smile, crumpling the empty bottle and pocketing it, too, so it doesn't draw attention.

"Maybe," Lance mumbles.

"It's a date, then," Keith says, "Pizza, then milkshakes? We could see a movie or something in between. Sounds like a standard first Earth date, right? We haven't had one of those."

He turns his face into Lance's hair as Lance blows out a short laugh against his shoulder. Lance puts his hand in Keith's pocket to hold his hand, and after a few minutes the medicine kicks in and he relaxes, starts to doze. Keith listens to the soft sound of Lance's breathing near his ear and watches through the wide window as the rest of their stuff is sorted, and scanned, and put back into their cases with far less care than when Lance packed it. When the lieutenant signals that it's time for them to leave, Keith wakes Lance with a shrug of his shoulder and pulls him up by the hand.

Lance rouses himself enough to sign the forty digital documents loaded onto the tablet someone shoves in front of them - a bunch of confirmations and fine print that Keith doesn't bother attempting to read before scrawling something that looks like it might have two K's in it. Lance's usually loopy autograph is a half-hearted scribble because he doesn't have the motor skills to loop all his letters that particular way at the moment, but it's good enough.

It gets them cleared, gets what remains of their luggage returned, and then gets them in the back of the black tinted SUV that's taking them to Varadero.

For the first portion of the ride, Lance watches out the window with his face pressed against it as they leave the Garrison complex and then the sprawling city of Havana behind. He's humming softly under his breath, still holding Keith's hand in his lap, thumbs rubbing indiscernible patterns over the back of Keith's knuckles. Keith is glad he's being quiet during the high before he crashes. Normally, he talks. He talks a lot. With no filter. And that's normally fine (Lance is funny when he's wasted, more physically affectionate, and it's no secret that Keith loves it) but Keith doesn't want to raise the suspicions of the two agents sitting silently in the front seat.

He doesn't know what they might do if they find out he not only smuggled in space drugs, but that Lance is high on said alien pain medicine. He suspects that they'll both be quarantined, and that's something that is definitely not happening without a fight. Lance is supposed to be visiting his family and having a good time, supposed to be relaxing - not being harassed because his nerves are on fire and his muscles spasm and ache.

Once the cityscape gives way to a boring stretch of highway, Lance's attention in watching the sparse buildings and glimpses of shining water wanes enough for him to finally tip himself away from the window. He pulls at his seatbelt, frowning; fumbles with the buckle. Keith notices that he wants it undone and reaches over to unbuckle it for him, lifting it off so Lance doesn't knock himself in the face with it trying to put it back in its port. Lance drops his head into Keith's lap, his arm slung over Keith's thighs, across his face. His other arm is curled around his middle, his fingers laced with Keith's as Keith rests his arm around Lance and takes his hand.

Keith uses his other hand to card his fingers through Lance's hair.

The agent in the passenger's seat glances around.

"Your buddy alright back there?" she asks. She sounds nice, like she means well.

"Uh," Keith says, "Just jetlagged."

Lance is out like a light - his hand lax around Keith's, his breathing deep and even - so he doesn't laugh at the stupid excuse. It was better than 'car sick', which was almost the first thing out of his mouth. The agent hums as if this makes perfect sense to her (she has probably never been in space, and doesn't know enough about it to contest it). She faces the front again, says, "Well, just let us know if you need to stop or anything. We've got a pretty good drive ahead of us."

"Thanks. I think we're good."

Lance sleeps the rest of the way. Occasionally, he moves. He loops his arm around Keith's knee, rubs his face against Keith's thigh, pushes his head into Keith's stomach. He tries to turn over onto his back, tries to stretch his legs out, but there's nowhere for them to go and after a few unconscious attempts to find a more comfortable position in the awkward, cramped space of the back seat, he settles down as he was. He mumbles a few things, words Keith barely catches as he brushes his fingers over Lance's forehead, swiping his bangs out of the way.

Once, about an hour in, he says Keith's name loudly and clearly enough that Keith thinks he's awake until he looks down and says, "What?" Lance's eyes are still closed, his face relaxed, lips parted, and he only hums in answer to the sound of Keith's voice. Keith can see the woman agent's shoulders shaking as she holds back laughter, and he is at least thankful there was no embarrassing follow up from Lance, no mumbled I love you or You're sweaty, babe.

The agent glances around again, smiling fondly, "Heavy sleeper, huh?"

"Yeah," Keith says, looking out the window.

He can't help smiling too.

He spends the remainder of the drive staring out the window in relative silence. He's half tempted to open it just so he can smell the salt air and feel the wind on his face. But he doesn't want to disturb Lance, so he settles for the coolness radiating from the glass and watching the fat white clouds roll by overhead across a wide, blue, endless sky.

When they're about ten minutes away from his family home, Lance wakes himself up. Maybe he senses the familiar turns and stops and bumps in the road, nostalgia from sleeping in the backseat of his father's car kicking in. He sits up out of Keith's arms after a particular turn into the neighborhood, still bleary-eyed, his attention focused solely out the window. After he sees and processes where they are, he turns to Keith and he grins and grabs Keith's arm.

"Feel better?" Keith asks quietly.

"Yeah," Lance says, voice rough from sleep, "Thanks."

He rubs his face, trying to get properly awake; stretches as best as he can and pops his back loudly, mumbles, "Jeez, that's a lot harder on you when you're not seven." Lance looks around the inside of the car for the first time since he climbed in, spots the two agents in the front seat, gives Keith a knowing but exasperated glance, and then says, "Man, don't tell me you guys have spent the whole two hours like this, in total silence. The radio's not even on!"

The woman agent smiles at him over her shoulder, "Maybe we were enjoying the peace and quiet."

"And now it's over," Keith intones.

"That's rude," Lance says to Keith. To the agent, he adds, "I'm Lance, by the way." He sticks his hand up between the seat and the agent sits fully upright, turning to clasp it in a firm shake. "Sorry, I was sort of out of it earlier, I'm still on space time. I didn't catch your names. You guys are gonna be tailing us the whole time, right?"

"Something like that," the agent says, her smile widening. At least she's friendly. "I'm Agent Morrow."

"First name is?" Lance asks, doing that stupid thing with his eyebrows and his voice that he used to do when he was flirting.

The agent laughs, "Maria."

"Nice!"

"And this is Agent David Torello," she gestures to their driver. He lifts two fingers from the gear shift to acknowledge the introductions, which is more than he's done the past two hours.

Lance fills the next handful of minutes plying Agent Morrow with questions and small talk and friendly chatter, his excitement brimming over into every word. This is what he does best. He's the only person Keith has ever seen who can wake up out of a drug-induced sleep and jump right into a comfortable conversation with a total stranger. Keith still needs time to warm up to people before he can really engage with them, and even then he just really prefers not to.

Lance points out a tree that he fell out of, a hedge he used to climb through to get to the beach quicker, the curb where Veronica broke her ankle trying to jump Marco with her skateboard, the empty lot where he lost a tooth playing rugby, an old dog lying on a porch that he can't believe is still alive, a mailbox he ran into with his bike. They're all small, insignificant, everyday things that come to life because Lance is pressed against the window, animating them with his voice.

He gets quiet all of a sudden, and Keith worries for a moment that the pain is back. He realizes Lance has caught sight of his house when they round the corner - Keith has never seen it before, but somehow he knows it as soon as Lance does. It helps that there is a crowd of little girls playing in the front yard, and an older boy that looks almost exactly like Lance drooped on the porch steps, the picture of boredom until he spots the SUV that parks conspicuously across the street.

The car hasn't even come to a full stop before Lance is wrenching open the child safety lock and then the door. He's out of the car like a shot, yelling, "Sylvio!!" at the top of his voice. He sprints across the street without even looking to check oncoming traffic and into the yard. He leaves the car door wide open behind him. Keith doesn't bother calling after him. Leaping out of a mostly-stationary vehicle that is safely on the ground is a far cry from being the most impulsive or dangerous thing either of them have done - and that's just within the past week.

The girls in the yard shriek at Lance's sudden appearance and cluster together. Sylvio, on the other hand, jumps up from the porch and straight into Lance's arms with an excited yell of, "Uncle Lance!" the moment he sees him. He knocks Lance to the ground with the force of his weight, and because Lance is off balanced by his leg and the tumult of his emotions.

Keith can tell even from where he's calmly unbuckling his belt, watching from the back of the car, that Lance is clutching at his nephew and crying. He hears Sylvio laugh and say, "Aw, c'mon, man, don't do this!" as he rests his chin on Lance's shoulder and awkwardly pats his back.

Keith is smiling, but his heart aches.

Agent Morrow turns around in her seat to face him fully, and draws his attention back.

"Before you jump out," she says, "You've both been issued phones and wallets." She passes Keith his as well as Lance's, and Keith takes them with surprise. The phone cases and wallets are both basic white, embellished with the Galaxy Garrison's orange insignia. "You've got new IDs and debit cards in there. You'll have to call to activate them and select a pin number before you can use them." She hands him a fold of papers next, which Keith takes with trepidation until he realizes they're only activation instructions. "Don't worry about the balance, it's all government funded. Just, you know. No unnecessarily large purchases. Our numbers are in both your phones, as well as Agents Laurel and Shield.

"If something happens, we're your first contact," she says firmly, "Not your friends in space. Not the police. Us. Understand?"

"Got it," Keith says, juggling everything into one hand and resting the other on the door handle, "Anything else?"

"I know it's already been beat to death," Morrow says, "But I really cannot emphasise enough that you're not to have any contact with anyone outside of Earth."

"Right," Keith says.

Morrow smiles.

"Alright, good. That's it. You want help with your bags?"

"Nah. Thanks, though."

Keith realizes as he's opening the hatchback of the vehicle that he can't carry all this luggage himself, especially when his hands are full. He hastily unzips his backpack, shoves the phones and wallets into the already choked space, and closes it up, swinging it into his back. A scream, shrill with excitement, makes him jump, and he turns toward the house just in time to see a young woman throw herself on top of Lance and Sylvio, grabbing them both in one arm and kissing Lance's face again and again, until he's laughing and trying to shove her away.

Rachel playfully knocks Sylvio aside, hugging Lance tightly and rolling with him in the green grass.

"Lance!! God I missed you so much!!"

"Really? I couldn't tell!"

A bunch of other people are running out of the house, drawn by the commotion - Keith recognizes Lance's mother, his aunt, his father. The little girls, encouraged by their own mother's actions and finally recognizing their uncle, drop all their inhibitions to pile on top of Lance, too. A large man who bears a startling resemblance to Hunk spots Keith standing behind the car as he's stepping off the porch, and quickly strides across the street toward him. Keith doesn't miss the fond look the man shoots toward where Lance and Rachel, a large number of small girls, and Sylvio, are all rolling across the yard together, but he pretends to be busy with the bags.

"Need a hand with those, Keith?" Luis asks, coming to stand beside Keith under the open hatch. He extends a hand, grinning.

"Yeah," Keith says, relieved and gripping his hand, "Good to see you."

"I'm a welcome sight," is such a McClain answer - accompanied by a flex of enormous biceps, perfect for carrying luggage - that Keith actually laughs despite his nervousness.

He has met all of them in person before, and he sees most of them regularly through their frequent video chats with Lance - he has a slightly independent relationship with Veronica, mostly because of her work through the Garrison. But for the most part Keith has tried to stay out of the way as much as possible. He wants Lance to have whatever time he can get with his family. He doesn't feel like he's made a very decent impression with most of them.

This is Lance's family. These are the people he loves most in the entire universe. Keith has never felt the weight of wanting to be accepted shivering through him like he does right now. It's got his pulse running. This feels ten times more important than any mission he's ever been a part of, and Keith doesn't want to screw it up.

"Let's get these inside," Luis says, effortlessly lifting all three of Lance's cases out. He glances into the front seat through the open back of the vehicle, spots the two agents in the front and nods toward them, asks Keith, "Your friends coming inside for a bit?"

Keith barely has time to hum in uncertainty before Agent Morrow is turning around to face them, flashing an honest smile, "We're good, sir. Just here to keep the peace."

Luis hums. He extends the invitation into his parents' home without so much as a second thought, "Well, you're more than welcome inside if you get tired of being cramped out here. There's plenty of room and plenty to eat."

"Thanks, we appreciate it."

Luis shuts the hatchback with his free hand, stoops to pick up Lance's third case from the ground. By the time they cross the street and start up toward the house, Lance has climbed to his feet and tearfully greeted the rest of his family, talking excitedly. His mother is hugging the daylights out of him when he spots Luis and Keith carrying everything past him up the porch steps. He jerks upright, face rosy from the suffocation of his mother's embrace, both hands resting on her arms as he straightens.

"I could have gotten - "

"Don't worry about it," Luis dismisses him immediately, "But you owe me a hug, Lance. You brought an awful lot of stuff for a guy who's only staying a couple of weeks."

"Some of that is Keith's," Lance says defensively.

"The bag is Keith's, probably," Rachel says, grinning at Lance's shoulder.

Lance's aunt moves to open the front door for them, and Keith follows Luis inside ahead of the crowd that troops in right on their heels. Even burdened with the heavy cases, Luis pauses in the front room to toe off his shoes; Keith, stumbling and hesitating, does the same. Lance's parents prepared a room for them on the second floor - Lance's old bedroom that he shared with his brothers, though it has long since been stripped of any teenage paraphernalia and converted into a guest room. Some of the things they couldn't peel off the walls are still present, clippings and bits of poster foolishly glued to the glossy blue paint. The ceiling is still decorated with a spattering of glow stars.

"Marco is next door," Luis says as he deposits the cases at the foot of the bed. Keith, dropping his burdens near the dresser, thinks he means the house next door, but when he looks Luis is gesturing to the wall shared with the second upstairs bedroom. He's grinning when he adds, "Arren's run him off again. Don't let his bellyaching keep you up all night."

Keith isn't exactly sure how he's going to sleep at night at all, so he doesn't manage an answer. It makes him feel a bit choked just thinking about it. It's been years since he slept in a different place other than the Castle, or his room with the Blades - both relatively silent, sterile, climate controlled spaces. There are already so many new sounds and smells in the house alone that it's a touch overwhelming for Keith, who is a bit antsy, anyway, from an unwelcome rush of hormones.

They tried to space the visit into a place in his cycle where he wouldn't be so… weird. But the way things have happened, he's probably going to start nesting soon. Keith looks down at the perfectly made bed, the plump pillows and bright floral bedspread, and his face screws up slightly in distaste.

It's an effort to mask that reaction, to turn away from the bed and face Luis.

He doesn't seem to have noticed. He knocks on the top of the dresser as he passes it and beckons Keith back out of the room. The dimly lit hallway is wallpapered in family photos going back generations. Keith pauses to look at them all as Luis descends the stairs - a litany of Spanish rising up to meet him from the rest of the McClains as they crowd around Lance. Most of the photos are black and whites in old frames, people and places that Keith doesn't know, but as he moves down the hall, they become brighter, newer, and all of a sudden Keith's eyes glance across a picture of a baby - and double back.

It's Lance, swaddled in a blue blanket, squalling his face off.

Keith huffs out a small laugh.

He knows it's Lance because his older siblings are in the photo with him. Veronica holding him in her lap with both arms, staring dead-faced into the camera; Rachel beside her, practically still a baby herself, beaming brightly; scrawny Marco and burly Luis standing up behind them and failing in their obvious attempts to laugh at their baby brother's wailing indignation. There are a number of these, a new one taken each year to show the McClain children's growth. Lance is smiling in every single one of them except for the first one, his cheeks round with baby fat, flashing perfect pearly teeth as he gets older. He outgrows his sisters' laps. He stands proudly beside his brothers.

Keith can tell these photos weren't professionally taken - the backdrop is someone's kitchen, sunlight pouring in from a window and into a home that has passed from generation to generation.

There are lots of other photos, too. Snapshots of their lives at various stages.

Keith prowls the hallway, picking out each one with Lance in it, until he comes to the window at the end and has circled back around to the staircase. There are four bedrooms upstairs, only two of them occupied, one set up for the numerous grandkids as a playroom, the other currently sitting empty. Keith wonders where Lance's parents room is, assumes it must be on the first floor. Feet thundering up the staircase behind him has Keith turning.

It's two of Lance's nieces - Ariadne, he thinks, and Nadia.

"Keith!" Nadia says, grinning and grasping him in a tight hug. She's thirteen and only as tall as Keith's chest, but she squeezes him hard enough to knock his breath away. "It's so good to see you! Thank you for coming to visit us with Uncle Lance!"

"Uh. It's - good to be here," Keith says, hands hovering awkwardly over her tiny shoulders.

She steps back out of his space, and Keith relaxes. The smaller one, Ariadne, is staring up at him without saying a word, one finger poked into her mouth. Nadia notices this, and swats her cousin's hand down in a practiced motion.

Nadia latches onto Keith's wrist.

"Come on, Uncle Lance sent us to get you," she says, pulling him toward the stairs, "He said to make sure you weren't hiding up here! You've got to say hello to everyone, we're eating lunch soon! Abuela made tamales! They're delicious, you'll love them!"

So Keith stumbles down the staircase after her.

It isn't quite as bad as he's anticipating - it isn't as if he's meeting strangers for the first time, and Lance's family is just as friendly and affectionate as Lance himself is.

Keith gets his hand shaken and pulled into a firm, laughing hug by Lance's father. He gets crushed until he can't breathe by Lance's mother, his face caressed by her soft hands as she pulls him down to look at him. He gets jostled by Marco and Rachel, and Rachel's husband David. He gets swamped by Rachel's five tiny, noisy daughters and a sheepish grin and salute from Sylvio. Veronica is on duty at the Garrison in the States, but she plans on visiting sometime later.

Lance's grandmother passed away last year; his grandparents shared ofrenda is still up and burning an incense in a little nook in the sitting room, a small plate of rice on the sill.

Keith gets walked around the house by the nieces not clamoring for Lance's attention. Nadia and Luna each take a hand and give him the whole tour guide experience, showing him into all the rooms and giving him an elaborate history lesson of their generational home, giggling and raising their voices over one another as they tell him stories that they've heard and stories that they remember.

Keith at once recognizes the spacious tiled kitchen, only from the photos upstairs. The whole place is just as warm and welcoming as he expected it to be.

----

The day passes all too quickly.

Lance sinks down onto the couch beside Keith not long after supper, after Luis and Rachel and their respective broods have gone home for the day, and Marco has retired upstairs. The sun is setting through the living room window, casting everything in deep shadows that the lamplight barely cuts through. Lance settles hip-to-hip with him, loops his arm around Keith's, and sighs heavily as he drops his head onto Keith's shoulder, snuggling down. It's the first real contact they've had since they got here, the first time they've been alone.

Keith rubs his face against the crown of Lance's head, breathing in his scent.

Lance chuckles into his collar. He curls against Keith's side, lifting his long legs into Keith's lap and hooking them over his leg. Keith's hand automatically slips between Lance's thighs, but it's only to feel the base of his prosthetic leg, fingers working into the tense muscle. Even that small contact is too much. Lance's leg jerks, a tiny grunt gusting out of him.

Concerned, Keith stills his hand and looks at Lance. He rests his palm lightly along the curve of Lance's leg and can feel the heat radiating from it.

"Hey," Keith says quietly, "Does it hurt?"

"I'm okay," Lance mumbles, curling tighter into his shoulder.

"Does it hurt, Lance?"

Lance's answer is a big sigh buried in Keith's shirt. Keith rocks himself forward to get up - Lance's medicine is in his pocket, but he needs water to mix it with - and Lance tightens his grip on Keith's arm, refusing to move his legs. Keith doesn't have the heart to push him off, doesn't want to cause him anymore unnecessary stress or pain. Lucky for him, Lance's father is making his way into the living room and trying to coax his wife along with him. He is hovering in the hallway between the two rooms, fussing in that laughing way of his as he beckons for her.

"Mama, come sit down. Mama."

She snaps at him in Spanish, still tidying up the kitchen.

He turns toward the sofa where Lance and Keith are twined together, chuckling, "You boys need anything?"

Lance says, "No."

Keith asks, "Got a bottle of water?"

Lance thumps him in the ribs. Keith ignores him. Mr. McClain disappears into the kitchen and fusses with his wife some more - Keith noticed Lance smiling, listening to their playful arguing - before he is shooed out into the living room again, a bottle of water in hand.

He passes it to Keith, gets a, "Thank you, sir," in return as Keith digs into his pocket around Lance's stubborn legs. His thanks are waved away. Diego takes his seat in the armchair across the room, under the lamp. He eyes his son and leans forward in his seat, his elbows resting on his knees as he points.

"Aye, mijo. That leg of yours, how is it?"

"Oh, y'know. It's doin' its thing," Lance says with a dismissive gesture. He lifts the leg for emphasis, smiling at his father despite the flare of pain that causes him to drop it just as quickly as he tried to show off. Lance tucks himself back into Keith's shoulder. "I'm fine, Dad."

"Let's see it, then," his father prompts.

Lance hesitates, knowing he's been caught. He rubs his hands down his thigh, under Keith's hand, and doesn't lift his head from Keith's shoulder.

"It's a little swollen right now…."

His father hums in acknowledgment, satisfied with Lance's honesty, and sits back in his seat. Keith hands Lance the water, medicine already mixed and foaming, and Lance eases himself upright with a sigh of resignation. He holds it between his hands, between his knees, frowning at it. He doesn't want to go to sleep this early, and he knows if he takes the medicine now he'll probably be done for the rest of the night.

Keith opens his mouth to reassure him.

Lance's father beats him to it.

"You've have a very exciting day, Lance," he says calmly, smiling, "All that mess with the Garrison, and the long trip, and settling in, and visiting. Take your medicine and feel better. We'll still be here in the morning, and you're going to want to be well-rested." Here, he chuckles, "No one is going to give you a moment's peace. Best to sleep while you can."

Keith really hopes that's an exaggeration. It must be, because Lance laughs.

"Guess you're right."

He still nurses the bottle rather than chugging it down, despite the taste, hoping to stave off it's drowsing effects. It doesn't do him any good. There is a thin film of medicine left in the bottle when it nearly slips from between his slack hands less than fifteen minutes later. Keith catches it the moment he notices it start to go. Lance himself slips steadily back from Keith's shoulder as he loses consciousness and his body relaxes. Rather than curling forward, he spreads out, and Keith helps ease him back so that he's lying stretched out across the couch with his leg's still over Keith's lap.

Lance's father has turned the television on as a backdrop to their quiet conversation. Lance's mother has been bustling around, up and down the stairs. Marco poked his head into the room to tell them he was heading out on some errand, and then left the house after tickling Lance's face and getting a drowsy laugh.

Keith's focus stays on Lance. The sound of his breathing, the movement behind his closed eyelids that might indicate any lingering pain. He continues massaging his leg over the cool compact that Lance's father brought him from their room. He feels a little bad for making the old man run like that, but Keith got waved down when he got up to do it himself. The compact has brought the swelling down a lot. Keith sets that aside along with the empty bottle, certain that Lance is good and asleep, now.

He is a heavy weight across the couch, his arms curled over his stomach, head turned to the side, breathing deep and even. Lance's father is watching them, and he chuckles, starts to rise from his chair again.

"I'll get a quilt to cover him up. He's gotten so big, he can stay there for the night."

"No, I can carry him to bed," Keith says.

Lance's father pauses, looks surprised. "Up the stairs?"

"Yeah," Keith says, moving Lance's legs carefully out of his lap so he can stand.

Mrs. McClain finally wanders in, dressed in her nightgown, as Keith stoops beside the couch to pick Lance up. He stops, hands under Lance's knees and back, when she bends and touches Lance's head, brushing her fingers through his hair. It's not enough to make Lance stir, though he mumbles under his breath, moves his hand. His mother smiles at Keith, pats his head next when he glances up at her.

"I turned the bed down for you, honey," she says.

Keith is unspeakably grateful for how thoughtful Lance's parents are. His thanks are waved away again. He shifts Lance into his arms and stands with him easily cradled against his chest. The stairs are a little bit of a challenge because he has to take them sideways - and because Lance's parents hover at the bottom, like they'll be able to catch Keith and Lance's considerable weight if Keith happens to fall. They both wish him goodnight as soon as Keith touches the landing.

The bed is turned down, sheets folded carefully aside. Lance clings to him in his sleep as Keith lays him on the bed, murmurs his name. Keith drops his hand over Lance's eyes when they flutter open and talks to him quietly for a couple of seconds, uncurling Lance's fingers one by one from his shirt. He undresses Lance carefully, mindful of his leg as he pulls his jeans down. It's red around the base, much more irritated than it should be, but not as irritated as it was.

Lance flinches involuntarily when Keith touches it, groans and turns over, reaching across the bed and curling his hand into the sheets when he doesn't find Keith.

Keith sheds his own clothes next, shuts the bedroom door and cuts off the light. It's odd climbing into a strange bed, in a strange room that is filled with strange lights and sounds and smells. But Lance is warm and familiar enough to compensate, pulling Keith against him the second he feels him. Keith rubs his hand down Lance's side and tucks his face into Lance's neck and shoulder, mouthing at the crescent-shaped scar there. It's partly to comfort Lance, who sighs and relaxes instantly against him, shifting his legs, and partly to comfort himself.

He buries his senses in all of Lance, and he sleeps better than he thought he would.

----

Something wakes Lance in the middle of the night.

He sits right up in the bed, rolling Keith off of him in the process, body tense and craned toward the window as if he's listening for something. Keith rouses at the movement, confused and groaning, "Lance?" Lance shushes him, finger coming up to touch his mouth. He is surprisingly lucid. Keith blinks up at him, frowning. His arm is draped around Lance's waist. Lance moves it off of him, throws back the blankets, and scrambles out of bed.

"Lance."

Worry claws into Keith's chest.

He sits up and yanks back the rest of the sheets. Lance is already out the bedroom door, leaves it swinging silently as he goes leaping down the stairs. This feels unreal, like a dream. A completely different place. Keith hesitates with his feet on the hardwood floor. In the foyer below, he hears the lock turning, the door protesting in the frame as it's pulled. Keith turns his head toward the window. He hears that, too - a soft pattering against the glass that grows louder the moment the front door eases open, letting in the cascading sound.

It's raining.

Keith stumbles down the stairs after Lance, less sure, still numb with sleep - out the door that's standing open, onto the porch with his bare feet. The cooler air kisses his bed-warmed skin and Keith rubs his arms automatically. Streetlights glint off the pavement and wet grass. Puddles eagerly growing every second, in every available space. Lance is standing in the dark in the middle of the yard with his arms outstretched and reaching up to the sky. His t-shirt and boxers are soaked through. The dark fabric clings to the planes of his skin when he moves.

As if he senses Keith behind him, Lance turns, bearing a grin at him.

The joy is in his eyes, in every crease in his face; the way his whole body glows with it.

He runs back to the porch. He grabs Keith by the hands - Lance's hands are cold, slipping over Keith's - he whispers his name, giddy with the rush of it.

"Keith!"

"What?" Keith laughs, as if he doesn't know.

Lance drags him down the porch steps, out into the rain and Keith gasps when it hits him. After the initial shock, it feels almost warm. The rain runs the length of his body so that everything sticks to him - his hair, his clothes, and Lance, who couldn't be still in this moment to save his life. He jumps and spins, pulling Keith with him by the hands. His energy is dizzying, intoxicating in the absolute best way, and Keith laughs with him, loudly.

"It's raining," Lance exclaims, inches away, pressing water from Keith's hair as he grabs his face.

"Is that what this is?" Keith laughs.

He barely has time to say it before Lance is kissing him. It's hard, but playful. It barely lingers. Lance's happiness titters against his lips, and then Lance is gone. His hands fall away. He turns and runs - out of the yard, the driveway - sprinting down the street with wild abandon - and Keith launches after him, caught up in all of his excitement. The dark pavement is sunwarmed and harsh under his feet, the puddles bursts of relief when Keith hits them, splashing up his bare legs.

Lance may have gotten a two second head start, but he doesn't hold it for long. Keith catches up to him, out distances Lance only long enough for Lance to bark out a loud laugh that rings against the sleeping houses, and then Lance pulls ahead, leading the way.

They race through narrow, cluttered streets. The little neighborhood gives way to two blocks of businesses, some local, most not. Palm trees swaying in the ever-present wind, monolithic hotels dotting every line of vision. The occasional car zips past. A horn blares in the night, lights flashing. And then Lance is leaving the pavement behind and crashing onto the white sand and streaking blindly toward the churning ocean with Keith hot on his heels.

As if it missed him, as if it knows him, the ocean reaches up for him.

Lance disappears into the first crash of foamy waves with his arms spread wide like he's greeting an old friend. Keith stops, chest heaving, as soon as the petal-soft sand begins to give way under his feet and the warm water caresses halfway up his calves before slipping down to his ankles.

He's not a strong swimmer. He's an okay swimmer.

The euphoria leaves him all at once.

Keith scans the beach, his hair sticking to his face. It's dark, hazy - it's the middle of the night. They're the only ones out here, locals and tourists alike all tucked away for the night. Lance's leg… He still hasn't come up yet. Keith doesn't know if it will weight him down. If it hurts. It shouldn't, but - The ocean and rain crashing together becomes too much, one sound indiscernible from the other, as Keith glances frantically up and down the strip of beach. The pale grey sand, the dark gnawing waves.

Keith surges further into the water, "Lance."

And just like that, the ocean gives him back with a gasp.

Laughing, swiping his face dry for whatever good it does, Lance stumbles into Keith's arms, and Keith hadn't realized how hard his heart was pounding and how cold he was until he is suffused with Lance's warmth, surrounded by his body. He hugs Lance tightly. Lance hugs him back, oblivious. He rocks them back and forth, sends them tumbling down into the surf.

It's shallow, but an excited wave crashes against their mouths, salt kissing their lips.

Lance is still laughing when Keith tries to pull him up, and Keith can't help laughing too in his relief. They stumble up the beach a little ways, tripping and clinging to each other. There are tiny open huts all along the beach. Keith ducks into one of these, pulling Lance along with him, and it's in the sudden quiet space that he can finally hear their breathy laughter.

The rain continues to hammer gently at the roof above them.

Lance glances up like it's calling his name.

Even in the dimness, Keith can see him perfectly. The water dripping from the upturned tip of his nose, the curling ends of his hair. Lance's body almost glows, his bronze skin glistening, water still running free down his arms and chest; his scent tart from his dip in the ocean. His eyes such a deep and mesmerizing blue that it snatches the breath right out of Keith when they drop to meet his.

It definitely feels like a dream.

Keith pulls Lance against him and kisses him.

Their wet clothes stick to each other, stomachs touching with an excited jump as Lance wraps his arms around Keith's chest and presses with his full weight. It's almost enough to knock Keith down again. He huffs out a laugh against Lance's lips, and Lance answers by kissing his jaw, his neck with an appreciative hum that trills right through Keith's legs and up his spine. Lance's hands are warm against Keith's back, imprinting on his skin through the sopping fabric.

He drags them, blazing, up to Keith's shoulders and circles them for a hug, his face tucked into Keith's neck. It leaves his own neck exposed in that unconscious, submissive gesture, with Keith's bite mark right beneath his lips at the juncture of his shoulder, the scar pale against his dark skin.

Keith doesn't think anything of it.

He bites down.

Not hard enough to break the skin with his fangs, but hard enough that Lance jerks against him in surprise and moans softly, fingers tightening into his shirt. Keith lets go right away, soothes the mark with his tongue. Lance's deep sigh is in his ear, a static that blends with the sound of the rain on the ocean. Keith can feel Lance's heart beating heavily against his chest and stomach, against his tongue. Lance tastes exactly the way he was meant to taste - how he always does, his natural scent prevalent, sweet and curling with some unnamable thing, but the fresh cut of rain and the ocean spray seems to bolster the way he smells, and tastes, the way he feels under Keith's tongue.

Lance's hand slides through his wet hair, the gentle touch snapping Keith out of his trance. He has sucked a bruise onto Lance's neck, over his mark. He hadn't even noticed and he pants slightly as he looks at it with glazed eyes, his whole body tingling pleasantly.

"Oops," he murmurs.

It's pretty noticeable. Keith rubs Lance's back in apology, pressing his closed mouth against the mark while he regains his breath. Lance is totally pliant against him. His heartbeat has evened out, his breathing deep and calm, even when he chuckles, "S' okay, babe."

They stand like that for a couple of minutes.

Keith loses all track of time. He wouldn't be surprised to see the sunrise blistering the horizon storm clouds in an effort to break free. But it is still deep dark when Lance finally pulls away. It's not by much, enough to grasp Keith's hands and pull him down to sit on the dry circle of sand in the bottom of their feeble shelter. Outside, the rain continues, gusting sideways in the wind, glinting like silver fish leaping across the surface of the ocean just a few yards away.

They sit like that, leaning against each other, holding hands, for a long time, too.

"It's so peaceful like this," Lance sighs, the tremor in his voice from the chill finally seeping in under their wet clothes. He smiles at Keith. "I used to sneak out a lot and come down here whenever it rained, especially during the day when no one else wants to be out in it but it's still light enough to see. I had a bag full of stuff I'd bring. Like a big soft towel, and a book or video game or something. And I'd bundle up just like this and stay here until the rain stopped or someone came looking for me."

"It always made me feel so safe," he continues, "Y'know? This little pocket of quiet with the rain going steady and the ocean nearby. It felt like it was just for me."

Keith has to admit, no recording could ever do this experience justice. He understands why Lance loves it so much. When he thinks of a quiet place just for him, he thinks of space. The calm, moonless desert nights when the sky is bursting with velvety dark and bright pinpricks of light. It's not the same kind of quiet that this is, and this does not stir the same kind of longing in his heart, but he gets it.

He rubs Lance's hand between his, trying to warm them both.

He watches Lance's profile.

"I cried when we moved to the States," Lance admits. He has his knees up, both arms circled around the one closest to Keith so he can still hold his hands. "I love this place. I was happy for Veronica, getting admitted into the Garrison, and excited to be in a new place. But I didn't want to leave. I begged and begged my grandparents to let me stay with them. All my childhood dreams - becoming a pilot, and seeing space. All of it meant nothing if I had to leave this behind."

"Would you want to come back here?" Keith asks quietly, "To stay?"

It's a genuine question.

Keith isn't even afraid to ask it, because if Lance wants - 

"No," Lance says. The answer is instant, honest. A soft laugh underneath how sure Lance sounds as he turns his head and smiles at Keith. "I'd rather be in space. With you."

Oh.

Keith thinks, distantly, that he should have some sort of reaction to that. Yes, his heart is pounding high in his throat. Yes, Lance's hands squeeze around his and it is the most calming, solid thing in Keith's life.

But it is nothing new.

Lance has always been like that for him. Solid, safe. Here. Keith expects to feel a tightness in his chest, an ache of some kind, but all he feels is his love for Lance singing through his veins, elated by the knowledge that Lance loves him back that deeply. That he would chose the life they have over the life he's always known and misses, despite all the hardship that has come along with it.

Keith pulls Lance against his chest. It's a little awkward because they're side-by-side, but Lance's arms come around him, anyway, legs moving to tangle with Keith's where they're stretched into the sand. His laughter is hot against Keith's throat. They pull back at the same time and help each other to their feet, smacking pointlessly at the sand coating their shorts and legs. Most of it will get washed off on the way home.

The rain feels warm against their chilled skin, a welcome embrace as they start back across the beach at a slower pace, holding hands. The parking lot they sped through before isn't empty anymore. A huge black SUV is parked almost directly behind the hut where they were sitting, and the driver's side window rolls down a bit when Keith and Lance start to pass it.

"Is this the kind of reckless behavior I can expect for the rest of our stay?" Agent Morrow asks. It's hard to tell if she's amused or not in the mixed glow from the dashboard and the streetlights.

"Probably," Keith says, smirking, "Sorry."

"Oh, no, you're fine," Morrow says, tossing a hand, "You want a lift back?"

"We've got legs," Lance says, barely stifling his mirth at the joke.

"One of us has legs," Keith says, pointedly looking down at Lance's prosthetic.

Lance throws his head back and laughs.

----

Even though Lance's siblings have work, and his nieces and nephews have school, there are still lots of people coming in and out of the house at random intervals throughout the day, all of them vying for Lance's attention. It's raining steadily outside, the wind picking up in heavy sheets and thunder launching across the burgeoning sky. Lance wants to go to the beach again, and says as much. But his mother worries her hands and says, "No, mijo, stay inside today."

They left the front door wide open last night.

They made a racket leaving, and then didn't return for hours.

Lance agrees (with no small show of reluctance) because he's sorry for giving his mom a scare on his first night back. He normally doesn't like being cooped up with nothing to do, but he seems more than happy to sit on the couch and talk to his father and mother, or jump up and help either of them with household tasks.

Keith is glad he's taking it easy.

That's what he's supposed to be doing.

Keith, unfortunately, has to work. He sits at the small eating table in the kitchen with his work tablet in front of him, reading over reports and graphs. He schedules a trip back to the Garrison facility in Havana, which he absolutely hates to do because it will mean going without Lance, and possibly spending the night there. But if it means freeing up the rest of his visit, he is more than willing to get everything out of the way now. He's still annoyed that he has to do it.

So he turns over the card that Agent Morrow gave him, and makes an unnecessarily big purchase. Something expensive and self-indulgent that he absolutely doesn't need. A good portion of his time at the table "working" is spent customizing it. He pays extra to get it expedited.

A noise in the living room makes him glance up.

A herd of children have arrived, throwing off their wet rain jackets and muddy shoes in their haste to dog pile on top of Lance, who pretends not to hear them coming and shrieks at the top of his voice as they tumble him off the couch and into the floor. Keith smiles as he gets up to take a break. Lance's father is laughing loudly from his seat in the chair.

"I'm glad it's not me," he says, watching no more than six heavy children writhing on top of his youngest son.

Lance picks one of the smaller girls up and hoists her overhead.

"Can I breathe, please!?"

"No!" the children chorus.

He fusses at them all in Spanish, and they fuss right back. He rolls and wrestles with them on the floor, asking loudly how exciting their day was and listening to their stories. The tumult ends with Lance's back resting against the front of the couch and three little girls - Rachel's triplets - piled in his lap, the others sitting crowded around him and suddenly enamored by the TV. Their grandfather knows exactly how to calm them all down. He switches off his old timer drama and flips to the cartoon channel, letting the bright colors wash the dull grey-blue room as the rain pounds outside.

Keith watches from the doorway, arms crossed as he leans against it.

They're all talking softly, now, asking Lance questions about space or explaining the cartoon when he exaggerates his obliviousness, as if he's very interested in it.

Rachel's oldest daughter, Luna, is nine; Ariadne is seven; the triplets, Maya, Mila, and Maddison are six. Sylvio and Nadia are older than their cluster of cousins, in their early teens, so they have more patience than the others. They give Lance some space while he cuddles the "babies" and spread out on the couch to dutifully tuck into their homework. Their little brother Malcolm, also nine, is sitting behind Lance on the couch. He's the one that notices and pokes Lance's neck.

Lance jumps, makes a noise in the back of his throat. He's not used to other people touching Keith's mark and he quickly drops his hand over it, shifting around to look at his nephew. He didn't bothering covering it up - isn't used to even considering it. The bruise from last night is dark and shiny as it peeks out from under the V of his shirt collar, the scar of teeth marks white against it.

Keith flushes hot from head to toe when Malchol asks, "Tío, did you get in a fight?"

Lance is clearly not prepared to answer. "No. Uhh. I - "

One of his tiny nieces spins around. Lance lets go of his neck to keep her balanced, but it only gives her the chance to pull his shirt down a little over his collarbones. She lets out a sympathetic noise, her perfect little eyebrows creasing.

"It looks like a bite! We don't have a dog."

"Señora Montblanc has a dog," one of them says.

"It doesn't bite!"

"Tío, what happened?"

Nadia looks directly at Keith with her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh; Sylvio has his textbook pressed against his entire red face; and Keith is so embarrassed than he stumbles back into the kitchen, abandoning Lance to all the innocent questions. He picks up his work tablet, but his hands are shaking too furiously to do anything with it. His mind is racing. He paces back toward the door without meaning to, almost cracking the tablet in his hands. He hides against the wall beside the door frame, not wanting to be seen.

He shouldn't have done that - it was stupid - he - 

"But it doesn't hurt?"

Lance's niece, Maya asks that, and Keith jolts against the wall, forehead pressed against it.

"No, it doesn't hurt," Lance says, voice careful and patient, "Keith is half-Galra. It's how he shows affection. He bites me sometimes to tell me that he loves me."

"That's silly."

"Can't he just say that he loves you?"

"He can." Keith's stomach flips over. He never has. "But we both like this better."

Tentatively, Keith peeks around the corner. The kids are all making faces at that as they glance at each other, unable to understand how a bite can feel good. But it's a grown-up thing that they don't care about, and as long as it isn't hurting their Uncle Lance, they're satisfied with the answer that he gives them. The cartoon becomes much more interesting to them again almost right away.

Keith sees Lance breath out a sigh once their attention is diverted, sees the small smile on his face as Lance reaches up to cup his hand over the mark again.

That molten affection pools into Keith's stomach.

He doesn't even remember that Lance's mother is literally in the room with him, standing at the counter and making sandwiches for the kids, until she asks him softly, "Everything alright, Keith?" Keith jumps, slamming himself into the wall with a thump.

He looks like an idiot, his face burning, eyes downcast before he covers his face with his hand.

"I-I'm fine. Sorry."

The urge to hide is definitely a lot stronger all of a sudden and Keith immediately recognizes why. It's an impulse that he can barely choke back as he stutters out another apology and bolts from the kitchen, down the hall, and up the stairs. He piles into the bed he and Lance are sharing, slips head-first under the covers. One night was not enough to settle in their scent.

Keith shoves the blanket off the bed with a scowl as he sits up, struggling out from under it. He knocks the pillows off, too. Doesn't want them here.

As soon as he does it, he realizes he doesn't even want to be on the bed at all.

It - it stinks. 

It doesn't feel right and his skin is crawling.

When Keith steps off the bed, his legs are shaking.

----

Lance glances up when his mom pokes her head into the living room, motioning impatiently.

"Lance, I need you for a minute," she says.

"Sure, hang on," Lance says, lifting his nieces off his lap.

The triplets protests and whine as they're deposited on the couch, but Lance pats their heads and kisses their faces and tickles them until they squeal and start pushing him away. He bumps Sylvio in the head with his fist as he passes him on the couch and Sylvio punches his thigh. So Lance turns around and grabs him and kisses him, too. "Tío!" He gets a book in his face, and a laugh.

It's worth it.

He's grinning when he jogs into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mama. You need help with the sandwiches?" he asks his mother, glancing at the eating area. He's surprised to find it empty. He thought Keith was working in here.

"Oh, no, honey, I was about to call them in here. They can help themselves."

She's already cut all the sandwiches into little triangles and piled them onto a platter. Lance takes it from her when she turns around with it, and he carries it to the table for her. He picks Keith's comm up from the table, glances at it, bends to glance out the back window and the screen door to see if his boyfriend snuck out into the backyard for some peace and quiet.

"So, what did you need?" Lance asks, looking at his mom, "Where's Keith?"

She makes a worried face, pointing up. Lance stupidly glances at the ceiling, then around at the door leading down the hall, understanding that she means Keith is upstairs. Lance lifts an eyebrow at her expression, notices her wringing her hands.

She nods toward the living room.

"He heard the little ones talking," she says, "He seemed upset. You should check on him, mijo. Make sure he's alright. I didn't know what to say."

Oh no.

Lance is feeling really stupid for not thinking to cover up the bruise this morning.

It would have taken him five minutes to apply some of Rachel's concealer. They have the closest skin tone - he had asked her to borrow it for a reason. He's just so used to the Castle, where no one looks at him twice for sporting a bruise over the mark, and anyone who does look knows what it means. It's so normal for him that he forgets it's not normal for everyone else. He also forgets how openly curious kids can be, and he doesn't know how to not be honest with his answers.

He wasn't raised to keep secrets - with so many siblings and close cousins, it was next to impossible - but it occurs to him belatedly that Keith probably doesn't want him divulging intimate details of their relationship to people he doesn't know. Hunk is one thing. Hunk is their best bud. They both tell that dude everything, and he tells them everything, too.

But Keith doesn't know Lance's family that well. (It's part of the reason Lance asked him to come.)

In space, Keith doesn't have any reason to be embarrassed by his Galra behavior.

Here, he probably feels like he does.

"I'll go talk to him," Lance says, "Thanks, Mom."

He pockets Keith's comm on his way down the hall, glances back at the foot of the stairs as his mother calls all the kids into the kitchen to eat. Their little feet thunder across the house, voices raising, chairs scraping back across the tiled floor. All the background noise is music to his ears. The television going, the happy chattering all in Spanish.

It's quieter upstairs. The temperature increases by a few increments about halfway up, and the landing is warm. The door of their room is ajar. Lance gives it a push.

"Keith?"

The bedroom is empty.

It's also a disaster.

The bed has been partially stripped and then abandoned, blankets and pillows and sheets twisted across it and piled on the floor. Their bags have been ransacked, too. Open, askew. Clothes and personal items littering the floor. But there's no sign of Keith. Lance's heart beats nervously as he steps back, glancing into the bathroom right behind him. It's dark, and also obviously empty.

Lance raises his voice a little as he moves to check the other rooms.

"Keith? Babe? Are you up here?"

The other rooms are empty, too. Lance doubles back to their bedroom, thinking his mom must have been mistaken. Keith must have gone out. He left his comm. Maybe he took - no, the phone Agent Morrow gave him is still on it's charger, the green light flashing. That's no surprise.

A rustling at the foot of the bed makes Lance look over.

His breath busts out of him in a sigh of relief. He drops to the floor, crawls to the edge of the bed, and stretches out on his stomach on the boards warm from the sun beaming in through the window, beside his largest suitcase. Keith's legs are sticking out over the side of it now. He's curled up inside with the lid down over him, buried in Lance's clothes.

His work tablet casts a faint glow over his face.

"Hey," Lance says, smile breaking before he can help it, "You doing alright in there?"

"I'm fine."

"You're in my suitcase, babe."

"I… might have panicked... a little bit…" Keith admits. He drops his tablet against his chest, muffling the small light it casts enough for Lance to see that his eyes are yellow, the pupils narrowed. Keith worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "Sorry. About the room. It - it doesn't - it's not - "

"Hey, it's fine." Lance puts his hand inside, combing it through Keith's hair.

Keith relaxes instantly.

"Didn't think it'd hit you so hard," Lance comments softly, "Being in a different place, y'know? Are you gonna be okay? If you wanna go home - "

"No. I'm staying with you."

Lance is quiet for a second, petting Keith's hair; "I meant we can both go home, Keith."

"No," Keith says it more firmly this time, not an ounce of hesitation. He lifts one hand to grasp Lance's wrist. "We're staying on Earth as long as you want, Lance. That's what we both decided. We rearranged our schedules and everything for this. I'll be fine."

"You made fun of me for packing such a big suitcase," Lance points out with a teasing smile, "And now I guess you're just gonna sleep in it. That's cute as hell." Keith blinks at him, his brow creasing. Lance's heart is so full right now - he loves this idiot so much - but he hasn't forgotten why he originally came up here. "Keith. Was it just the scent thing? Or…?"

Keith looks away, shifts among all the clothes with a soft rustling noise. Lance pulls his hand out so he can prop up on his elbows and take some of the pressure off his lower back. It's making his leg hurt. This sucks. He can't even lie in the floor like he used to.

Keith is worrying one of Lance's shirt between his fingers.

"I don't…" He hums, frowning, trying to think.

When he exhales in frustration, Lance asks, "Do you want me to cover up the bruise?"

"No."

"Does it bother you that everyone can see it?"

"....No."

"Did it upset you when I told the kids about it when they asked?"

He starts to say No again. Lance hears it on his tongue, but Keith swallows it back, keeps his gaze averted and that t-shirt pressed against the lower half of his face. Lance is ready to knock the lid of the suitcase back and climb in there with him.

"I'm sorry, Keith. I wasn't thinking about - "

"No," Keith says, "It's - I'm not mad. Or upset. It's just… It's weird. I guess I got a little self-conscious." I might have panicked, a little bit. " I just don't… want them to hate me. It's stupid."

That surprises Lance.

"Keith, they're not going to hate you. They love you."

Keith snorts. He's not being deliberately hateful, but he doesn't really believe it. Lance can't help but feel a little offended at that, but he understands what kind of place Keith is coming from emotionally. Lance reaches in there again to cup Keith's face in his hand, to tilt his head slightly so Keith will look at him as Lance props himself up to lean in closer.

"I know they love you because I love you," Lance says, laughing softly, "And you're so great, even if we broke up, they would be so disappointed in me." He pitches into an imitation of his mother's voice, waves his hand, "'How could you let a good man like that go, mijo. Madre de Dios.' and they would compare anyone else I ever brought home to you, and talk about you in front of them because no one else is ever going to be good enough. They'd invite you back to spend the holidays with them before they invited me."

"You really like to exaggerate," Keith says, but he's smiling now.

"They ask me about you all the time, Keith," Lance says, because it's true, because he wants Keith to believe him; because he wants Keith to feel as loved as he does, wants Keith to feel that sense of belonging that Lance has felt his whole life, "This is as much your family as it is mine and they don't care if you're Galra or you bite me or lay in my suitcase because it smells like me. As long as I'm happy, and safe, and loved. And I am. We both are, right? So don't worry about it."

The snort from Keith this time is a half-laugh, and Lance can feel that he's blushing because he is still holding Keith's face, thumb soothing along his cheekbones.

Keith shifts around, puts his hand out of the case so he can place it on Lance's neck. His fingers brush over the mark there, ghosting over the bruise. Lance shudders a little. It hurts when someone else pokes it if it's bruised - doesn't feel like anything when it's not - but it feels totally different when it's Keith. That heat puddles in his insides, spills out as a smile as Lance finally pushes up to his knees and lifts the lid of the case.

He kisses Keith's face a couple of times, gets him to laugh again, their hands grasping at each other. Lance wants to lay on top of him, cover all of his fears and worries with his body, but space is limited and he's worried about busting the fabric confines of the case. It's Altean-made, so it's more durable than anything on Earth. But it's beginning to strain even with just Keith curled up in it.

"Stay in there as long as you need to," Lance says, dropping the lid once he finally sits back.

"I think I'm okay now," Keith says, pushing it off again. His hair is mussed, sticking up from the static of Lance's clothes as he sits up awkwardly in the case with his legs thrown over the side. Lance grabs his feet, pulls them into his lap and shuffles up closer to the case. Keith paws at the clothes piled in his lap, still a bit restless. "Sorry," he laughs, "I'll fold them and put them all back."

"Don't bother," Lance says, "You'll just mess them up again."

Keith's face heats up again, but he nods, leaning back against the baseboard of the bed. Lance rubs his feet and his legs, the gesture absent of thought, something he does on reflex to soothe both their nerves and help Keith relax when he's stressed. Keith does the same for him, to help when the remainder of his left leg is acting stupid and hypersensitive. They're both nothing but cords of tense muscle sometimes, and giving each other massages is the best way to relax.

"I don't want to sleep in this bed again," Keith admits.

"We'll figure something out. I'm not sure what to do about the way the mattress smells, but I did bring some of our bed sheets and blankets. And your pillow." Keith looks at him, surprised, and Lance tilts his head, grinning, "I was worried it would be too much, so I had Pidge hide them in one of those Mary Poppins bags from Ferix Malan. Y'know, the ones that are bigger inside than outside? They disguised it as one of my toiletry bags, so it wouldn't get confiscated."

From Keith's expression, Lance is going to guess that he was just planning on sleeping on the floor until his cycle shifted back into place. He's pretty proud of himself for thinking of it. He's definitely glad the bag wasn't discovered and confiscated in Havana, because he would have been super pissed. He had been really worried when they were going through all their stuff. He almost hadn't packed it, but he knows how Keith gets when he's like this, and he wants Keith to feel safe.

And it was worth the stress of smuggling it in, seeing Keith look at him all tender like this.

Lance pauses, hands working up the muscle of his calves.

"What?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

Keith shakes his head, looks down, small smile tugging at his lips.

"Nothing."

----

One evening later in the week, Luis, and Marco, and a handful of their cousins have crowded Lance toward the door before Keith fully realizes that something is happening.

The overlapping Spanish doesn't help him very much. He can hold a perfect conversation just fine, but more than one person speaking at a time gets confusing for him. He can catch the rhythm of different voices, but not all the words, and the commotion - Lance's pitch, higher than the others in half-formed protest - is what draws Keith to the foyer in the first place. Lance's cousins and brothers have him partially into his thin jacket and his shoes, some of them holding him and the others doing the work.

Over the continuous chatter, Keith understands than Lance is saying something about a his novio - Keith knows that means him.

"What's up?" Keith asks.

He doesn't startle the group. Most of them glanced at him the moment he poked his head around the doorway. Marco doubles his efforts to force Lance's left foot smoothly into his shoe.

Lance looks at him sheepishly around his cousins.

"They - we were gonna go out," Lance says. Keith knows that look. The hopeful smile, the crease of his perfect eyebrows. He wants to go, but he doesn't want to leave Keith. "To the bar, y'know? I - "

"He's got about a dozen birthdays to catch up on," Luis tells Keith, tossing him a wink, "We won't keep him out all night. Promise."

"I'll be glad for the break," Keith says, smirking, "He's tough to keep up with."

There's a chorus of laughs, whistles, and rushed Spanish. Keith catches the word mami, sees Lance's face flush red. He ignores his cousins and grins at Keith, "You love me." Keith hums, feigning indifference. He knows Lance doesn't really drink, so there's very little chance of him getting shitfaced and doing something foolish. There's no need to worry about him going out to spend some time getting hazed by his family.

They'll give him hell, but they'll keep him safe.

(It will give two of the four agents stationed outside the house something to do other that sit in their car.)

"Have fun," Keith says.

Lance is flashing him a final grin as he's ushered out the door at last.

Unfortunately, it occurs to Keith too late that he has just been left alone in the house with Lance's parents - and that he is probably expected to interact with them. It's the polite thing to do. He is a guest. He can't just go hide in his room because Lance isn't here to buffer any of Keith's awkwardness.

Keith balks, wondering if it's too late to run after the party and invite himself. But the idea of going to a noisy bar (even with Lance) doesn't appeal to him, and he doesn't want to intrude on any time that Lance takes for himself to spend with his family. So he takes a deep breath and heads back into the hallway, bare feet soundless over the floorboards as he passes by the television in the living room and Lance's father silhouetted on the couch by the black and white telenovela.

The sweet scent of something baking draws Keith to the brightly lit kitchen, instead, where Lance's mother is. She moves about, wiping down the countertops, humming a fast and lilting tune under her breath, unaware that she's being watched until she turns to dip her washrag again and wring it dry and spots Keith standing there. She jolts and screams softly. It's such a Lance thing to do that Keith smiles, though he feels bad for startling her.

"Keith, honey, make a peep next time," she says, sighing out a short laugh.

"Sorry, Mrs. McClain."

She gives him a stern, rather exasperated look. She has told him at least a dozen times that if mama is too informal for him that her first name will suffice, but he can't pick up the nerve to call her Maria (or to call Lance's father Diego), and he's not about to use the alternative.

They're stuck at this impasse.

"Do you," he begins, uncertain as he glances around, "Need help with anything?"

He feels awkward asking, but it's out there anyway.

Lance's mother sets him to work right away as if he were one of her own children, smiling, " Gracias, mijo. You can put the dishes away out of the drainer."

Keith feels swamped with affection for the stout little woman as he pulls each heavy porcelain plate from the drainer and stacks them carefully in the crook of his arm. She bustles around him, directing him to the correct cabinets as she finishes wiping down her kitchen from top to bottom. She has moved from the countertops to the bottom cabinets, though Keith can't see so much as a smudge as she expertly passes the damp rag across each cabinet face.

It seems more compulsory than necessary. He asks if he can help with that, as well, once he finishes putting the last of the glasses away.

Mrs. McClain laughs at him goodnaturedly.

"You're so helpful. I'm done, honey."

Keith nods. He's just nervous and doesn't know what to do with himself without Lance here.

"Those boys have run off?" she asks, seeming to sense his thoughts. She's draining the sink, wiping it down last of all as the water runs hot.

"Yeah," Keith says. He fidgets with a corner of the towel draped across the oven door. He can't quite help that he's leaning towards it, breathing in deep. That smooth, sweet smell that caught his attention earlier has gotten stronger. It has a warm feeling settling in his belly. "Is there something in here?"

"It's a flan cake," Mrs. McClain says.

Keith glances at the clock on the stove. Nine o'clock in the evening, and she has a cake in the oven. He's really starting to see where Lance gets his busy, nurturing tendencies from, though he's more laid back in nature like his father seems to be. Mrs. McClain comes over to ease the door open. Hot air rushes out across their faces, the caramel, cinnamon, and vanilla cloying at Keith's sensitive nose almost enough to make his mouth water on the spot, though the cake is only halfway done.

"It's got to cool for ten minutes or so once it's done baking," Mrs. McClain is saying, "And then it'll go in the fridge for tomorrow."

"What's tomorrow?" Keith asks.

It must be a special occasion for her to go to all this trouble. He starts to ask why the bundt cake pan is sitting in a pan of water, but doesn't. He remembers his dad making him a red velvet cake in a weird-looking pan like that every year for his birthday. Keith eases the oven door closed, straightening up and looking at Mrs. McClain. She's drying her hands on her apron, reaching back to unknot the string behind her left hip, and lifts an eyebrow at him.

"Tuesday, isn't it?"

Keith realizes rather suddenly that he has no concept of weekdays anymore, and her blithe answer clarifies nothing for him, regardless. He's forced to elaborate, tipping his head. He still has his hand resting on the handle of the oven door.

"I meant… the cake. It's for…?"

Mrs. McClain gives him an odd look, her eyebrows pinching together in the same way that Lance's do when he's upset about something and smiling through it anyway.

"It's just a cake, cariño," she says. Sweetheart. It's weird hearing that from someone who isn't Lance. "It's for you all to eat tomorrow. It's nothing special."

"Oh," Keith says, "Uh. Thanks."

Hunk bakes them cakes every now and then, but it's mostly reserved for birthdays and celebrations to retain some of the novelty. Lance's mother baking a cake for them out of the blue, for no other reason than because she wanted to and because she thought they would enjoy it, has Keith feeling a weird mixture of emotions that he can't quite name. He's smiling, though he still feels restless and a little out of place with nothing productive to do. He has a lot of excess energy that he's not burning, used to training every day.

Mrs. McClain brings her hand up to pat his arm affectionately.

She moves to sit down at the kitchen table and Keith follows her on reflex. She's very easy to talk to, and once she gets him going with a few questions to kickstart his voice, Keith falls comfortably into the conversation while they wait on the cake to finish baking, and cooling. By then, it's late. Keith's eyes are getting heavy and he's yawning as he stands at the counter and watches Mrs. McClain invert the cake onto a plate.

It comes out perfect, moist and golden brown, doesn't stick to the pan or break apart. Caramel oozes down the sides, pooling thickly in the grooves and at the base of the cake.

Mrs. McClain pops the cake in the fridge to chill.

Keith thanks her ( "For what, honey?" "Uh. Nothing. Goodnight." ), and sneaks up the stairs to get ready for bed. He still doesn't like the way the room smells. It's not bad. And it smells slightly familiar. This is Lance's childhood home, and the spirit of it clings to him even in adulthood. If dejavu had a scent, this would be it - like Keith has been here before, even though he hasn't. Keith closes the bedroom door and strips down to his shorts, moves to the window and lifts it a couple of inches to let in the cool breeze off the ocean, the salty air, hoping that will help.

Keith sighs, even as he sinks down into the sheets. The scent here is better, at least. His and Lance's bed sheets smuggled from the Castle do the best job of easing the restlessness simmering under his skin. Keith puts his face into Lance's pillow and breathes in. But he moves around a lot. He checks his phone, then his communicator, where both are charging on the nightstand.

Hunk has sent him a message asking how things are going. Lance has sent him no less than ten selfies. He looks like he's having a good time, his cheeks flushed, grinning wide in the dim light of whatever bar his cousins and brothers have dragged him into, and Keith can't help smiling at them before he puts the comm down.

In the end, he crawls to the foot of the bed and leans over it to dig through their bags. He pulls on one of Lance's t-shirts, and that helps.

----

Voices downstairs wake Keith up, and he is out of bed and halfway out of the room before the front door has even closed with a soft click that echoes through the silent house. It's Lance and Marco. Keith relaxes marginally, glances around in bleary confusion with his hand on the doorknob to see what time it is and finally lands on the digital clock on the dresser.

It's just shy of 2 am.

There's a thump on the stairs, close to the bottom. A quickly hushed fit of giggles and footsteps that are noisy while obviously trying very hard to keep quiet.

Keith shakes his head, smiling, and climbs back into bed. He listens to Lance and his brother murmuring and laughing as they painstakingly traverse the hallway and say their goodnights, and then the bedroom door creaks open and Lance tumbles in. He's still laughing under his breath. The door clicks shut. Streetlight is pouring in through the sheer curtains in front of the window, but Keith doesn't need the dim lighting to see by.

He's glad he doesn't, because watching Lance fumble with his clothes like he's never had to get out of them before is a hilarious sight. Lance actually stumbles trying to kick off his jeans and falls hard on the floor. Keith jumps. It only forces a laugh out of Lance.

From the next room over, Marco theater whispers something harshly in Spanish. You're going to wake everyone up! Lance gasps out a silly apology from the floor that Marco probably doesn't hear. Keith props himself up on his elbows to peer over the edge of the bed, and he watches with unmasked amusement as Lance rolls and struggles out of his t-shirt, next. He pulls off one sock. He climbs into bed. He spots Keith watching him in the dark only when they're at eye level together, and Lance smiles the biggest, dopiest smile Keith has ever seen.

"You waiting up for me, cariño?"

That one rolls richly off of Lance's tongue. Keith smiles back and moves to make room, pulling up the blanket to allow Lance in.

"You woke me up when you came in," Keith says. Lance practically melts into the bedsheets beside him, and Keith huffs out a small laugh as he drops the blanket around him. "You're drunker than I thought you'd be. How did you get home?"

Immediately, he notices the heat radiating from Lance's body. He feels it inches away from his own skin the moment Lance is under here with him, and then he gets seared by it. Lance crowds against him, pressing Keith onto his back with his weight and little finesse. He drops a sloppy open kiss to the corner of Keith's mouth, and his arm winds around Keith's waist, pulling them flush together. He definitely heard the question, because he murmurs an answer belatedly.

There are so many bars, in hotels or otherwise, all within walking distance that they didn't bother taking a car. They just walked, and carried each other from one to the other, and then home. Lance paid for everything with the card they were given, so they had a more elaborate time than originally intended.

Which explains why Lance is completely and utterly shitfaced. All of his words are slurred together, threaded with Spanish words, brushed along Keith's jaw. Lance's hands start to wander up his body, under his shirt. Keith catches them with his own, gently, and holds them still while Lance talks. The smell of alcohol is pretty strong, and Keith resists the urge to lean back and wrinkle his nose when Lance kisses him again.

Lance's prosthetic leg bumps almost painfully against Keith's shin, and he winces.

"Sorry, s'my bad," Lance murmurs, tucking his face into Keith's neck and giving him a squeeze with his whole body like an octopus, "I missed you sooo much."

"It's okay. I missed you, too, Lance," Keith says, smiling. He lifts one hand to card his fingers through Lance's hair, noticing that it is slightly damp with sweat at the roots and how flushed Lance's face is when he turns his head up to meet Keith's eyes, resting on Keith's arm. "You're pretty wasted."

"You're pretty," Lance giggles at him, "Wasted."

He's very handsy, groping Keith's ass through his shorts while he has a hand free. Keith lets him for now. He brushes Lance's hair back from his forehead, making it stick up, and chuckles.

"Did you have a good time?"

"We had such a good time?" Lance sounds like he can't believe it only because he's so drunk and everything at this point is going to be a great surprise.

His voice pitches high enough that Keith shushes him. He doesn't want to disturb everyone else in the house, but he knows Lance is going to talk regardless of anything he does. He can at least try to keep him quiet, and maybe distract him from what he's subconsciously attempting to get started. That hand pushes past the waistband of Keith's shorts, and Keith pulls it back out while Lance talks about the bar and his cousins and brothers, and everything they got up to.

They karaoked, mostly. They drank a lot of tequila.

"I'm sooo good at karaoke, babe, I wish you woulda been there, I missed you sooo much, Keith," Lance gushes, kissing his neck again. He's curled his knees, trying to push his thigh between Keith's legs. Keith reaches down to push his legs away. Lance rubs a hand up Keith's back, instead, lifting his shirt again to get at the warm skin underneath. He sighs, mumbles, "My leg hurts…"

That snags Keith's attention right away.

"Did you take your medicine?"

Lance hums in a negative. He's got his face hidden in Keith's shoulder, weight across his chest. The next thing out of his mouth is understandably stupid, "Had plenty of tequila, though."

He giggles again.

Keith sighs, exasperated.

"Lance, if you were hurting why didn't you just take your medicine?"

"Makes me sleepy," Lance murmurs, breath warm and wet against Keith's neck, hands slipping clumsily down Keith's sides again and catching on the waistband of his shorts.

"Yeah, tequila seems to make you something else." Keith can't quite keep the amusement out of his voice, gently pushing Lance's face away, trying to ease him up with the press of his hands. He catches Lance's wrists, ignores the whine of annoyance he gets for that. Lance isn't ignoring his hints on purpose, but it's time to be more direct, "Stop. It's late, let's get some sleep."

Lance groans, "Okay. M'sorry," and rolls away from him, throws an arm drunkenly and dramatically over his face. Keith laughs, "Oh my god," under his breath.

He reaches out to put his arm around Lance.

"Are you not gonna cuddle with me?" Keith asks, patting his chest.

"You don' want me to."

Keith struggles not to laugh, trying to coax Lance's arm up so he can see his face.

"I don't want to have sex or get frisky with you, but cuddling is fine if you stop grabbing me so hard."

"'m sorry. I love you soo much, Keith."

"I know you do. Think you can keep it above the waist?"

Lance hums thoughtfully. He drops his arm and reaches over, pawing at Keith's hair where it's spilled across the pillows. He hums again, and Keith thinks he must have forgotten the question because a full minute passes with no answer in sight. Lance's eyes have drifted closed, the absent movements of his hand slowing as he drags the tips of his fingers against Keith's scalp.

"Lance," Keith says softly, "Do you want to cuddle with me?"

"Yeah," slips instantly past Lance's lips, an automated answer, "Love you, Keith."

His breathing evens out with a deep sigh, heartbeat steady and hot under Keith's hand where it's resting on Lance's bare chest.

"I love you, too, Lance," Keith murmurs.

He really is a coward. Lance barely hums in response, already deep asleep. Keith has been doing that a lot recently - telling Lance that he loves him only when he knows that Lance can't hear him, or won't remember. He's testing them on his tongue, trying to get a feel for hearing himself say those precious words out loud. He's trying to get up the nerve to give them back for once, but after going so long without doing it, he feels guilty and self-conscious.

The impulse to say it as soon as the endearment is out of Lance's mouth is just growing stronger every day, and Keith is almost a breath away from answering every time. His stupid, stubborn fear is all that's holding him back.

Keith wraps an arm around Lance and drapes himself across his chest, buries his face in Lance's neck where he can touch his mark and breathe in Lance's scent. Even though it's warm - extra warm with Lance's alcohol-induced sweating and boosted body heat - Keith pulls the blanket up over his head. It closes him in with Lance's scent. Soothes away any negative feelings. Keith snuggles in as closely as possible.

Lance's arm comes around him, unconscious, heavy in his sleep.

Chapter Text

Keith is sitting in the floor at the foot of the bed, going through their bags, when Lance gets back from his post-morning-jog shower. Lance pauses in the doorway with a small towel wrapped around his head, tying his bathrobe closed, a pang of worry shooting through him. Keith's cycle should be creeping past the part where he's sensitive to outside stimuli, he shouldn't still be scenting all of Lance's clothes - but he's not, Lance realizes after watching him for a minute.

He's smelling them, yeah, but he's sorting them to wash. Finally. Lance's mom has been offering to do their laundry for days, now, but Lance has been putting her off. The more his clothes smell like him, the less stressed Keith will be. Apparently, he's feeling good enough to take matters into his own hands, methodically sniffing and sorting clothes as he sits among their cases and bags.

"This what's on the agenda today?" Lance asks, picking up a shirt and shorts from the pile he knows has been deemed fresh enough and underwear and mismatched socks from the clean pile. Supplies are limited. He's glad it's getting done. "Because the room is starting to develop a funk. And not a good funk, Keith. A 'mi madre is gonna come in here and febreeze everything if it doesn't get cleaned soon' funk. And I know you don't want that."

Keith curls his nose at the thought of all their stuff getting sprayed. His moves a little quicker.

"I didn't think anyone else would notice."

"She just has a nose for dirty laundry," Lance says, tapping the side of his own nose and winking, "She raised five kids, Keith. The lady's an expert on keeping a house clean and nice-smelling."

Keith rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, breathing in one of his own shirts. He tosses it into the fresh enough pile, wanting to focus on the clothes that are actually starting to reek - socks, underwear, and the like - clothes that Lance wore too many times so his scent would be stronger and the ones that Keith subsequently wallowed a lot.

Lance grabs his lotion from the dresser and sits on the edge of the bed, dropping it beside him along with his clothes. He pumps some off into his palm, rubs them together so it won't be so cold, and starts with his right foot, working his way up; ankle, calve, knee, thigh, kneading the muscle as he goes, giving extra attention to certain places that are notorious for drying out and itching. He doesn't really need to moisturize so much here - space doesn't have humidity, and Cuba more than makes up for it - but it's habit, and it feels good to do it.

So Lance smoothes up one leg to the hip and then goes down the other. He saves a lot of lotion and time here. That's about the only thing he has to be optimistic about.

The scarring on his left thigh is worse than ever. A halo of scar tissue around the base of his prosthesis, several long and jagged tears arching up to his hip. It's almost totally numb to the touch, but once he digs in with his thumbs he starts to feel too much, his nerves burning. Lance stops when his muscle spasms painfully, mouth pressed tight to avoid making a sound. He glances at Keith, who has his face buried in another shirt, and rubs the rest of the lotion in with his palm.

Lance and Keith both start when a shrill ringing pierces the peaceful atmosphere. Lance puts a hand on his chest and breathes out from the shock, turning toward the sound. Keith climbs quickly to his feet, swearing, to silence the offending device. It's the phone Agent Morrow gave him. Glancing at the screen after muting the ringer, Keith's frown evaporates. He yanks it off the charger and sprints out of the room to answer it; "Hello? Yeah, this is Keith Kogane. Hang on- "

His voice fades as he thumps quickly down the stairs and through the house, presumably to the back yard. Lance hears the tell-tale creak and double clap of the screen door opening and snapping closed not a moment later. He sits there on the bed, staring.

That wasn't completely random. 

His curiosity piqued, Lance hurries to get dressed, checks his bruise in the bathroom mirror one more time - it's fading, barely there - and follows Keith down the stairs. Both his parents are at the kitchen table when Lance arrives, his dad sipping his coffee and his mom fresh orange juice, both of them happily munching cereal and working a crossword together. His mom points toward the fridge when he asks about the juice and Lance bounces over to pour himself a glass.

He's being nosing and peeking out the kitchen windows while he does it. Keith is standing in the yard with the phone to his ear and his back to the house, scuffing his bare feet in the grass.

"See something you like out there?"

Lance is only half-listening. He turns toward his dad at the question. "Huh?"

His parents chuckle, and Lance blushes when he registers the question, belatedly. He huffs, "No," and buries his face in his glass of orange juice, leaning against the counter. He moves to make himself and Keith some toast when his mom offers to get up and fix him something, not wanting her to fuss when he's perfectly capable of doing it himself. But he keeps sneaking glances out the window as Keith paces the yard, voice pressing against the glass without penetrating it.

Lance is just checking the toast when Keith finally finishes his call and comes inside, pocketing the phone as he eases the door closed.

"Did you make some for me?" he asks, spotting Lance with the pan.

"No, this is all for me," Lance says, pulling down a couple of plates while he holds the hot pan with an oven mit, "I can absolutely eat half a loaf of bread all by myself. It's one of my many talents."

"It is," Keith says, smirking, "I've seen you do it. So your sarcasm is unhelpful."

"Sarcasm isn't meant to be helpful, mullet." Lance flips four pieces of perfectly golden toast off for himself and slides the pan back into the oven because Keith is a heathen who likes his toast only after it's been on fire for three minutes. He is the bane of Hunk's existence. "Yes, I made some for you. Because I love you and I don't want you to starve."

"Your mom would feed me," Keith says.

He focus is entirely on Lance, but he turns and hits Lance's mom with one of his unintentionally devastating smiles. Lance is beaming, glad that Keith feels comfortable around his parents enough to joke like that. Maria murmurs something into her cereal bowl that only her husband can hear, and Diego barks out a laugh, slapping the table.

Keith pushes Lance out from in front of the over door with a hand at his waist, motioning for the oven mitt with the other. Lance hands it to him, picks up his plate, and moves out of the way. He grabs the blueberry jam out of the fridge and proceeds to smother all four pieces of toast in it while Keith waits for his toast to crisp, pulling open the door to check every couple of seconds.

"I'm gonna leave for Havana in the morning for that seminar they want me to do," Keith says, finally reaching into the oven. The pan comes out smoking. Lance reaches over the sink and lifts the window a couple of inches. "And I'll stay a day or two up there."

"That sucks, but it's pretty cool, isn't it? Finally getting those intergalactic immigration laws in motion so Earth can fully join the Coalition." Lance waves a hand to help clear the air, looking sympathetically at Keith's perfectly charred toast. Lance already set the peanut butter out on the counter for him, and Keith wastes no time in coating the black surface of each piece of toast as he transfers them to a plate of his own. "Do you need me to go over that stuff with you again?"

"No, you've done enough, Lance. I think I've got everything I need."

"Okay, just let me know." Lance waits a beat, then asks, "Is that what your super mysterious phone call was about?"

"No," Keith says with a small laugh, "It was something else. I was going to just come back late tonight, but Adam said he's going to be there. I want to spend some time with him if I can. It's been a while."

"Oh, is that who was on the phone?"

"No. He sent me a message through the comm to let me know the other day. Also, when do you want to go on that date I promised you? When I get back?"

Lance stops with toast halfway in his mouth, pulls it back out. "Huh?"

"When we were waiting on them to finish going through our stuff, when we first got here," Keith reminds him, "You said you wanted a milkshake. So I said - "

"Pizza!" Lance exclaims, pointing with his bitten toast so emphatically that he almost loses some of his jam. Keith puts a hand on his wrist to lower the toast out of his face. "And a movie! I was a little high at the time, but I definitely remember that conversation happening! Yeah! Yeah, I wanna do that when you get back! What day is that? You wanna stay a couple of days to hang out with Adam, so you'll come back some time Wednesday? We can go Thursday! Please tell me the Pizza Shack still does All You Can Eat Specials on Thursdays…!"

"Si, mijo," his dad chuckles from the table.

Lance is buzzing. He pumps his fist.

"Ooho yes!! We can eat the best pizza in the universe until we both throw up, and then we can drag ourselves to go see a movie!"

"And milkshakes afterward," Keith says, grinning, "If we're not sick on pizza and junk food."

"I don't know about you, but I will make room for the feasting that's gonna happen. Is that what your phone call was about? Our date?"

"Related," Keith says, eyes on his last pieces of toast as he sandwiches them together, "But no. Not really. Just made me think of it."

Lance waits with barely contained excitement, munching on his toast and relishing in the simple breakfast. No matter how hard Hunk tries, certain foods are just impossible to replicate perfectly, and nothing beats plain old toast and jam. But Keith eats his peanut butter and burnt toast sandwich and doesn't elaborate.

When he realizes no further information is forthcoming, Lance is more bewildered than anything else. He's not going to be able to let this go and Keith knows it. He has deliberately built up this mystery about one random phone call and Lance is gullible as hell for playing right into his hands. Keith rinses his plate and hands in the sink and pours himself a mug of coffee, unbothered.

"Wow, you are really not even gonna tell me what that was about, huh?" Lance finally asks, rinsing his own plate and feeling agitated. It's his own fault.

"Nope," Keith says, as expected, "It's a surprise."

"I hate surprises!"

"You love surprises."

"Yeah, but I don't like waiting for them! I don't like the anticipation! And I can never guess what it is with you. Why do you always tell me when it's a surprise, but you never tell me what the surprise is?"

"Maybe I like watching you squirm."

Lance opens his mouth, frowning. But he catches the look on Keith's face as he says it, eyes lidded, eyebrows raises, expectant. There's some innuendo there. Lance snaps his mouth shut, blood rushing to his face. He tries to find something to do with his hands, but there's nothing. Just his glass of half gone juice. A clean counter top. He can't believe Keith would say something like that with his parents in the room, but the bastard sure is smirking into his coffee right now.

"I like this boy more and more, Mama," Diego says, giving the praise under the guise of speaking to his wife, laughing. He indicates Keith with a nod of his head. "I've never seen Lance speechless before."

"Ha ha," Lance says, still feeling flustered.

Keith chuckles, but his own cheeks are a little pink. He sets his empty mug in the sink with his plate.

"I'm gonna get some laundry started, if that's okay," he says to Lance's mom.

Maria practically leaps from the chair to help him.

"Of course, Keith! I'll get a basket for you, let me show you how the washer works!"

She is shoving him out of the kitchen before Keith can even blink, her small hands presses into the center of his back, and Keith let's her, mostly because he has very little choice in the matter, looking only slightly put off by the sudden attention and enthusiasm. Lance grins and moves over to the table as they clatter up the stairs together. He takes his mom's seat across from his dad, who is chuckling and rolling up the booklet of crossword puzzles. He thwaps Lance with it.

"Hey!"

"You've still got those doe eyes, Lance."

Lance is also still noticeably red in the face, he's sure. He rubs his cheek with the back of his hand and slumps a bit in the seat, trying to take some of the pressure off his leg. It hurts today. Sore from the jog, pins and needles sweeping up the muscles like a tide that keeps making him want to jerk. He hopes it doesn't hurt like this Thursday, massages it absently even though the sensation makes it burn.

"Excited about your date?" his dad prompts.

That brings a sheepish smile to Lance's face.

"It's been a while since we had one. So yeah. Excited is an understatement."

His dad's mustache twitches with suppressed mirth as he wiggles his eyebrows.

"Should Mama and I make ourselves scarce Thursday evening?"

Lance pounds his fist on the table, yelps, "No!" He is beyond mortified that he is basically being invited to have sex in his parents house.

One of those bushy eyebrows arches high.

"You don't want to talk it over with your novio?"

"No, and I don't want to talk about it."

"Hmm. A tender subject." Diego isn't put off by this in the slightest. "Is it your leg?"

"My leg is fine."

"Mijo."

That stern, exasperated tone of voice.

Lance scratches at the table and looks away.

It's not that it's weird talking to his dad about this stuff. He shrugs.

"We don't really have sex that often. We didn't… before." He rubs his leg again, glad he wore shorts so he can get underneath the fabric because the stupid thing is still hurting and it's better to knead it with his hand without something in between. "So it's not my leg. And it's not a big deal or anything. We cuddle a lot, and we go on dumb dates and stuff, and we just like being with each other. He'll tell me if he wants to get frisky, and he'll tell me no when he doesn't. I think we're pretty in sync. When he gets to the end of his cycle he gets a little weird about smells and stuff, and he usually asks to fool around a lot then, but he was in a strange place this time and I don't think he felt totally comfortable."

Lance hurries to add, "It's not - not anything you guys have done." He's embarrassed and looking at the table, but he sees his dad's hand wave, dismissing the notion, and relaxes. He goes on with a tilt of his head, "He's not really into sex anyway, and he's super private about it, too. So being in my parents house is probably a big Nope for him. Especially with all the traffic in and out, y'know? I just don't see the point in trying to get something started when I know it isn't going anywhere."

"I'm still amazed your mother and I managed to make five beautiful babies," his dad says with a laugh, "With all the noisy little feet already running around day and night, and our work, it was hard to find time, or the energy! But you find ways to be together if you want to." Lance hears the hinting in his voice, and flushes anew. "You ask someone to take the little ones. You ask for an empty house one evening so you can light some candles and ~salsa~"

Diego rolls his shoulders then, imitating the dance.

Lance laughs.

"Why does it seem like you're trying really hard to make sure I hook up with my boyfriend?"

Diego tosses a hand, as if the answer is obvious. "A man should be invigorated by his partner!"

"I am invigorated!"

"Is Keith?"

"I hope so," Lance laughs.

He hears Keith's footsteps coming back down the stairs, then the hallway, and prays that this is the end of the conversation. He doesn't want to embarrass Keith and his dad is notorious for saying whatever he likes regardless of who it embarrasses. Keith only pauses in the kitchen doorway. He's changed out of his lounging clothes, a t-shirt and shorts, into actual going-out clothes - black jeans and a red button-up with the sleeves still in the process of being pushed messily up his arms. He's even tied his hair back, though he obviously didn't comb it.

Lance sits up straighter, wondering if he should go get dressed too.

"Hey," Keith says, "I'll be back in about an hour."

"You're going somewhere?"

"Yeah. That's why I said I'll be back."

"Oh, I thought you were just giving me your best Terminator impression."

Keith snorts out a laugh in answer. Lance scrambles up from the table as Keith turns from the doorway and goes back down the hall. Lance tries to be inconspicuous about the way he hops half a step behind him, ignoring any and all protests from his throbbing leg.

"So where're you going?"

"It's a surprise, Lance. You can't come with me."

"Right, right, right. But where are you going?"

"To pick something up."

"Nice and vague. I love it."

Keith sits on the little bench in the foyer to pull his boots on and lace them up. Lance follows him barefooted out onto the porch. It's grey and breezy today, the sky full of fast moving clouds rushing another storm front away from them. Lance stops at the top of the steps.

"You could at least give me a hint!"

"Bye, Lance," Keith says pointedly over his shoulder.

He's already crossing the yard.

Lance folds his arms and cocks his hip, huffs, "You're in such a big hurry, you're not even gonna kiss me goodbye? That's terrible boyfriend behavior - "

Keith turns on a dime and strides back to the porch with his serious face on. Lance balks, flustered. He tries to laugh it off, throws up his hands to wave away Keith's advance. It doesn't do him any good. They land on Keith's chest as he comes up the porch steps, press over his firm pecs as Keith steps flush against him - and that's totally an accident on Lance's part, but he is struck stupid with the realization that it is deliberate on Keith's. He doesn't know where this intensity is coming from all of a sudden, but it works it's way into his lungs until Lance feels like he's suffocating in it.

The heat of Keith's body, the heat of his gaze, has Lance totally pinned. He expects to be incinerated on the spot when Keith kisses him, and he's half right.

The kiss is chaste enough - just a firm press of Keith's lips against his parted ones - but it runs like molten lava all down Lance's insides, coursing through his veins. Keith's hands close around his waist, and Lance slides his own hands around to hold Keith close. He doesn't want him to go at all if this is the kind of goodbye he's going to get. That's just unfair.

"You're in some kind of mood, huh," Lance remarks, feeling dizzy as Keith pulls back, "You trying to get me revved up for something?"

"Is it working?"

Oh god, he does the rumble voice, tilts his head a breath away, and he's only taller because he's wearing those stupid boots but he uses that measly inch to his advantage and Lance really tries to get a grip. Tries to remind himself that they're standing on the front porch in plain view of the street and anyone who happens to be passing by and that he can't just throw Keith down right this second and show him exactly how well it's working. Keith is too good at this game when he decides to play it.

Lance's eats it up.

"You're a tease," Lance asserts, "You know it's working, you jerk. Got something you want to say?"

Keith hums in answer, gaze shifting aside.

Lance thought as much.

"Would you want to get a hotel room as part of our date Thursday night?" Keith asks after a moment. He's the one who started this, and he has the nerve to look embarrassed about asking.

Lance's heart is working double time in his chest. He smiles, cants his head.

"Oh? You wanna get frisky with me? You could have said something sooner, Keith."

"There's a lot of people around."

Lance is glad (and a little mortified) that his intuition was correct. He definitely empathises. Kind of hard to get excited about something when you know there's a person trying to sleep right on the other side of the wall - and that they can hear every little creak and groan. The Castle's soundproof rooms have spoiled them both.

"And," Keith adds, "That bed's too small."

Lance laughs at that. It is like a full size smaller than their bed is, no room to roll around.

"It's big enough to sleep in, but not big enough to have sex in?" Lance asks.

"Not if I want you screaming my name."

Lance's hand shoots up between them, slapping down over Keith's mouth. It barely suppresses Keith's laughter as Lance ducks his blushing, burning face into his shoulder, his own shocked laughter caught in his throat.

Keith tugs at his wrist, chuckles, "Sorry."

"Oh my god, who body-snatched you?" Lance wheezes into his shirt, still unwilling to look up, sure his face is tomato red, "I was just telling my dad you were shy and now you're busting out with stuff like that...! Safe word."

"Apricot," Keith says, trying to get him to look up. Pulling back half a step, holding Lance's face between his hands. Lance stays pressed where he is and Keith fingers the mark on his neck instead, the faded bruise. Lance shudders. Keith continues, "It's true, though. I was just gonna wait til we went home, because it's…  weird… not being there. Especially right now, when nothing smells quite right. But I don't want to wait. Unless you think it's trashy to get a hotel room for one night."

"Absolutely nothing trashy about it if the hotel is nice enough," Lance says, finally lifting his head and grinning, despite the stubborn heat in his cheeks. Keith is always still surprising him. It's wild being in love with this guy. "And we have our pick of luxurious, over-priced hotels. You should get like a suite or something because I want a bath. And a balcony."

"Pretty demanding," Keith says, smirking at him.

"I deserve it," Lance says loftily.

"That's debatable."

Keith drops another kiss on him now that he can. This one lingers. Lance's stomach leaps with excitement when Keith's tongue passes over his bottom lip with one swipe, but the second Lance parts his lips to let him in, fingers reaching up to curl in his hair, Keith withdraws. Smirking, still holding onto Lance's hand as he drops down the steps.

"I'll be back," Keith says, giving his hand a final squeeze and then letting go.

Lance huffs again, "You only do that because it doesn't bother you like it bothers me."

"You think it doesn't bother me? I like kissing you."

"Oh, is that all."

"You're never gonna see what the surprise is if you keep distracting me from leaving, Lance."

"By all means, leave. I'm just standing here, totally ready to be kissed again at a moment's notice. But you can go whenever you want."

Keith's laughter follows his slow trek across the lawn, then the street. Lance watches from the porch as he pecks his knuckles on the tinted glass of the black SUV parked adjacent to the house and speaks to the agent inside when the window rolls down. With a final wave and a smile thrown at Lance, Keith slides into the back seat. The vehicle drives off, and Lance watches it until it's out of sight, feeling absolutely giddy.

When he turns to go back inside, he freezes.

Both his parents are crowded into the living room window with the curtain pulled back, beaming at him. Not the least bit ashamed of their spying. Lance blushes from head to toe, scrambling inside by yanking open the door.

"HELLO DO YOU MIND!"

"It's just so good to see you so happy, mijo!"

----

When Keith returns, Lance is sitting in the living room floor making bracelets with his nieces and nephews. There are boxes of tiny beads and string of every imaginable color cluttering the area, everyone's fingers busy braiding and twisting and gluing clasps, picking sentimental pallets of string and beads with their favorite symbols or letters. The kids are sprawled across the furniture, laughing and talking while Lance bounces affection off of each and every one of them.

All of them hear the growl of an engine coming up the street, but none of them pay it any mind until it grows louder, more demanding, rather than fading off down the street. It idles, quiets. Sylvio is sitting in the chair by the window, legs kicked across the armrest. He pulls himself up to pull the curtain back and look out the window, and then launches up from the seat entirely, "Holy crap!"

"What?" Lance asks, alarmed amidst a sudden stampede.

He automatically shifts Maya out of his lap as Sylvio goes sprinting to the front door with his sister and brother and smaller cousins right on his tail, caught up in his excitement over who knows what. They overturn the box of string and they don't look back. Lance is slower to rise. He's spent too long sitting in the floor, and his leg throbs painfully in protest. When he tries to put his weight on it and push himself up, it all but gives out underneath him, and Lance is at least glad that no one is around to see him collapse, bent and gasping against the coffee table.

It takes him a second to stagger upright and breathe through the pain.

Excited little voices clamouring outside, raising over one another. He hears Keith's steady tone. That calms him a little bit, helps him breath. The commotion draws his mother from the kitchen, a dish towel between her hands, a fond smile on her face as she glances down the hall toward the door, then into the living room. She catches sight of Lance.

Her smile gives way instantly to worry.

"Lance? Are you alright?"

"I - I'm okay," he manages a small laugh, straightens up, "Leg's asleep. I'm fine."

It's not convincing and he knows it.

"Do you need your - ?"

"No, I'm okay!"

He doesn't want to spend his whole visit sleeping, and if he takes his pain medicine that's exactly what he'll end up doing. That's going to be harder to bear than a little pain.

In an effort to show her that he's fine, Lance takes a step - and he prays so hard, holding his breath, that his stupid leg doesn't give out on him a second time. The bolt that shoots up into his hip forces its way through his stomach, past his ribs, up into his lungs where it hooks its nails. It snags his breath, makes him flinch. But his leg holds. And he takes another step, and another, and he is putting on a tight smile and brushing past his mom in the hall. Lance would run for the door if his legs weren't shaking so bad.

It's all he can do to keep his footfalls even.

Thankfully the door is standing open, fresh air and balmy light pouring in, and he doesn't have to stop. He comes up short on the porch, anyway, his misbehaving leg forgotten under the shock of what he sees. Keith is sitting in the driveway straddling a black motorbike. It gleams stunningly in the sunlight, the stripe of red down the flanks burning bright now that the clouds have parted. He looks more than pleased with himself and the reaction he's getting.

The youngest Mcclain's all have something to say about it. They swarm around in a circle to see it from every angle, asking for rides, resisting the temptation to touch it and smudge the reflective surface that shows their glowing, eager faces when they lean in close.

Lance is speechless.

Almost.

"What is that!?" he demands, excited.

"Guess you've never seen a bike before," Keith comments, enjoying himself way too much, grinning ear to ear.

If he looked sexy before, the bike only amplifies it. Lance is going to die.

"I know what it is, smartass, is that the surprise?"

"Yeah."

"It's not for me!"

"No," Keith laughs, "It's for me."

"It's got wheels."

It sounds like a stupid observation, but it's no secret that Keith prefers hoverbikes. They're more fun. Easier to maneuver.

Keith just shrugs.

By now, Lance's mom has stepped out onto the porch behind him. She spots the bike and lifts her gaze to the heavens, crossing over her chest and murmuring, "Dios Mio!" She raises her voice, "Keith, where is your helmet?"

"Right here, ma'am," Keith says, lifting it from where it was resting between his legs on the seat. He'd already taken it off by the time Lance got out here, but Lance can tell, now, that he was wearing it. His mullet's got that post-mission look to it that makes Lance want to grab it by the fistfulls- trying to fly-away and lay flat at the same time. "And there's an extra."

He reaches behind him and lifts another one from the compartment, metallic red.

Lance wants to jump on him right there in the driveway in front of god and everybody. He takes the stairs careful but quick, wincing, elated, "Oh, that's for me!"

"Good guess," Keith smirks, handing it to him the moment he's within reach, "Wanna ride? I'll take you guys next," he adds to the sea of awestruck faces swimming around him. He looks a little put off, apprehensive suddenly. "If it's, uh, okay with your grandma. I promise not to go too fast."

Lance hopes that promise doesn't extend to him, hopes it is something Keith says to placate Maria so she doesn't worry them both off the bike and back into the house and lock the door behind them. Lance braces his hands on Keith's shoulders and swings his leg over, sitting tucked up close behind him. He already loves it. The engine is quiet, but Lance is ready to hear it roar and feel it running up his body.

Low vibrations are supposed to relax the muscles and help ease away pain. All that good stuff was in that little pain management document the hospital gave him after he first lost his leg and had the surgery for the prosthetic. Massage is also part of his physical therapy. It's basically the same thing, right? So it should be fine. This should help!

Lance dons the helmet and buckles it before anyone can tell him otherwise.

He bounces his weight to rock the bike.

"Let's go, babe!"

"Stop," Keith laughs, "You're worse than the kids." To the kids, he adds, "Back up," and he revs the engine to life again.

The younger ones fall back, shrieking. Sylvio and Luna both look enraptured and jealous all at once, following Nadia back to the porch and herding the smaller kids ahead of them. Lance's mother calls, "Be careful!" from the porch. Lance barely even hears her, lifts his hand in a short wave before latching onto Keith as he kicks the stand up and rolls them back down the driveway. He idles there for a second, glances over his shoulder at Lance, then further back.

Lance glances around, too, and sees the agents' SUV just pulling onto the street.

He grins at Keith, who grins back.

Think we can lose them?

Keith throws the bike into gear and slams the gas. That first thrust forward, Lance is sure he leaves his stomach behind - but he leaves everything else behind, too. His small aches and worries, his pain. All of it is blown away in an instant and replaced with unbridled excitement, adrenaline lighting through his body, his and Keith's wild laughter soaring free and swallowed up by the roar of the motorbike. The pavement sweeps away beneath them; houses, people, cars, and lively palm trees all a passing blur.

They leave the neighborhood far behind in no time at all. Lance guides Keith through the familiar streets with each shift of his body, so used to dancing with him, and fighting with him, and being with him that even the subtle pressure of his hand on Keith's stomach is enough to signal him to turn left or right depending on their need. Neither of them have a destination in mind.

They zoom out onto the highway that stretches from one end of the peninsula to the other, a mostly-straight shot along the bay and through the reservation - a lane that reaches clear out to the most narrow stretch of the peninsula, dotted with golf courses, private beaches, restaurants, and elaborate, sprawling hotels. It's the view before all that that matters most.

The ocean opens up on their right, an expanse of shining blue that crests and glints in the patches of sunlight raining down between the cloud banks. The wind bursts over Lance's exposed skin, yanks at his clothes. He wishes he could pull the helmet off.

He wants to feel it on his face, to breathe it.

He has never felt more invigorated and in love than he does right now.

----

Cluttered little beaches dot the highway, singular palm trees standing vigil at pull-off places along the strip. Keith picks one at random, several miles down, and the deceleration as they pull off into the dirt and gravel makes Lance aware of a tingling in his chest. When he breathes, its spreads. In through his chest and stomach; out through his hands when they unclasp from Keith's waist, his foot as he drops them both onto the ground to help steady the bike.

His whole body feels pleasantly numb.

Keith kills the engine, kicks the stand into place.

He pulls his helmet off and lets his hair fall loose, and the incoming breeze catches it, brushing it over his shoulders. He twists around to grin at Lance in the sudden silence that falls without the engine roaring. His face is flushed with excitement. Lance's heart is pounding, throat sore from laughing, and yet he still finds the strength to do so again. It echoes off across the open space, dulled by the rush of ocean sounds.

Lance crushes his body against Keith's, craning forward to kiss him.

He only gets the corner of his mouth.

It's enough.

The bike rocks precariously beneath them and Keith laughs, grasping Lance's hands where they're twined around his middle.

"Like your surprise then?" he asks, tone playful.

"You're stupid," Lance says, lips against his cheek, "I love you. You've probably scared my mom half to death. She calls these things máquinas de muertos ."

"But she was fine with letting you join the Garrison and flying fighter planes or going into space?"

"She was more worried about someone else hitting me than me crashing."

"She never saw you run a simulator, then, huh?"

"I only sucked at the simulators because some other little punk kept showing off and making the class more difficult for everyone else."

"Wonder who that was," Keith muses.

There's a soft smile on his face as he stares out at the ocean. Lance rests his chin on his shoulder, watching Keith's profile, the play of his dark hair across his cheeks and jaw. He hugs Keith a little tighter.

"Hey," he says, "What's up?"

Keith shrugs.

"Nothing. Just thinking." Keith drops his gaze, his fingers rub soothingly over the back of Lance's hand, his knuckles, the bones in his wrist, the bracelet there - red and blue and purple string braided and held together with a knot. Keith hooks his fingers around it, traces the pattern with his thumb. "I was such a mess back then. I didn't know who I was. Didn't feel like I belonged anywhere. I had Shiro… but sometimes I felt like I didn't have him, either. I caused a lot of trouble. Got into fights, didn't keep up with my grades. People gave him a lot of grief over me, and he still stuck up for me and tried to get me to do better. To be better."

Lance listens attentively to all of this with his face tucked into the back of Keith's shoulder. He doesn't know what is making Keith so introspective lately. Maybe it's just being back on Earth. Lance definitely feels that.

"Don't think you've grown out of that rebellious phase too much," he says, giving the bike a tiny bounce.

Keith laughs, "Guess not."

"But you are better, Keith."

"Because of you."

Lance blushes, his whole body thrumming with heat like a sudden inferno, and lifts his face to look at Keith. He's still got that soft smile touching his lips; his violet eyes bright in the overcast day, turned down to watch his fingers still lovingly grazing Lance's wrist.

Lance… doesn't know what to think of that.

"You know I'm better because of you, too, right?" he asks Keith, trying to hide how thick his voice is, "That's why I love being with you, Keith. We challenge and support each other. And sometimes we bring out the worst in each other, but we mostly, definitely, bring out the best. I love who I am when I'm with you. And I love you. Exactly the way that you are, Keith."

Keith is still hanging onto his silence like he has something else to say, the movements of his hands more restless. Lance only notices the difference because he's pressing down a little harder and his gaze darts away for a second. That smile has dropped, his brow creasing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. So Lance prompts him, squeezing gently.

Keith takes a deep breath, "Lance - "

Gravel crunches behind them and they both glance up. The black SUV turns into the pull-off and the window rolls down as it draws level with them, revealing an ever-exasperated Agent Shield.

Lance sits back, though he still holds onto Keith's waist, and grins at him.

"Dallas. You guys're slow."

"Mr. McClain," he sighs, "Mr. Kogane. Would it be too much to ask for a break from these unauthorized escapades?"

"Nope, sorry," Lance says flippantly, tossing a hand, "It's a lifetime commitment."

He thinks he feels Keith stiffen against him, but it's just Keith shifting his weight to release the kick stand. He's put on his helmet again before Lance can catch a glimpse of his face. Lance flashes Dallas another grin as he does the same, and he has barely slipped his arms back around Keith before the engine is running and they're shooting off again.

Maybe the way it almost feels like Keith is running away from something is something that Lance imagines, only because Keith never says what he'd wanted to say.

----

The bike ride comes at the height of the day, and the rest of it progresses just as rapidly.

Keith gives the older kids a more tame ride on the bike along the slower, shorter beach roads. The younger ones cry. It's not their fault they're too small to ride. Uncle Keith promised. (He didn't promise, but that doesn't make much of a difference to them.) Lance doesn't want Keith to feel bad because the little ones are making a fuss, and is worried he's going to have to step in and take them when they really start to get rowdy about it, but Keith is so patient with them.

He talks to them quietly and firmly and doesn't get upset when they stomp their feet and yell at him. Keith offers to let the triplets and Malcolm take turns sitting on the bike with him while he let's the engine run, so they can at least get a feel for it. The smile on his face when they agree to the idea, all grievances forgotten, is worth a thousand suns, a thousand moons, a thousand stars. It's got all of those dumb soft feeling curling in Lance's chest.

Having a family with Keith would be so amazing.

He's gentle, and loving, and patient with them. He's a little bit awkward and nervous, but he doesn't let them run over him. He sits and makes bracelets with the girls and is sporting a red and black bracelet by the end of the session, that matches Lance's with it's simple knot, worn on his left wrist.

He helps Lance's dad with dinner. 

The look of concentration on his face as he stands beside Diego at the stove, doing exactly what the older man tells him, has Lance melting on the spot.

Rachel gives him absolute hell over it - apparently, there's a look on his face - and Lance tries not to be indignant and embarrass himself more than he probably already is. While Keith is busy later in the evening, Lance spends time on the beach with just his siblings, talking and playing in the sand like they used to do when they were little, wishing Veronica were here. It's exhausting, in a way - his stubborn leg is still hurting - but it's so nice, and quiet, and peaceful.

By the time Lance finally hauls himself up the stairs that night, Keith is already in bed. He has to get up early, the bag he's taking with him to Havana already packed and set aside by the door. Lance wouldn't think it was odd - except Keith is pretending to be asleep.

He doesn't look up when Lance comes in; doesn't stir as Lance prowls around, undressing, plugging in his comm to charge. He doesn't make a sound.

Lance plops down onto his side of the bed, and winces.

Ever since their galavant on the motorbike his leg has been throbbing like a toothache, steady constant pressure that feels like it could bust at any moment. After what happened in the living room earlier, he should have probably taken it easy, but instead he was running around, keeping busy…. Lance stares forlornly at his medicine on the bedside table, then heaves a sigh and gets back up.

He returns with a bottle of water from the fridge and this time he finds Keith propped up in the bed on his elbows, eyes glowing as he watches the door.

"Lance. You okay?"

"I'm fine. Are you?" Lance asks, lifting an eyebrow.

He sits again, easing down with his hand braced against the mattress to take some of the pressure off his leg. Once he's as comfortable as he's going to get, Lance presses against the base of his thigh with the cool water bottle. That helps. Like, a lot. Wow. Lance glances toward their bags, wondering where the cold compress is, but doesn't want to get up to look for it.

He looks at Keith, still waiting for an answer.

Keith has sunk his head down against the pillow, but he's watching Lance. Two slits of yellow in the dimness give him away, disappearing for barely a second every time Keith blinks and let's the silence grow.

"I'm okay," Keith says.

"Are you lying?" Lance asks.

Keith's frown is sharp, eyes narrowing.

"Are you?"

"No."

Lance hadn't meant to sound… contrite.

...Maybe he did.

He knows something is bothering Keith, and if it's not bothering him then it's on his mind and he won't just say what it is and Lance is - Lance is doing that thing. Again. Where he pushes when maybe he doesn't have to, when he shouldn't. He's trying to play it off like he's not, but that's exactly what he's doing, and Keith is not in the kind of mood to accommodate him.

Lance is sitting with his prosthetic leg curled on the bed, his actual foot resting on the floor. He rolls the water bottle along his thigh without thinking twice about the motion, only how it brings relief. He doesn't think about the sound he made when he sat down, barely stifled, the way it caught in his voice. He doesn't think about how tuned to him that Keith is - every movement, every breath.

Keith knows him like he knows his own heartbeat.

Keith reaches out and touches Lance's leg, above the base of his prosthetic. All Keith does is place his hand there and it feels to Lance like he roughly digs his fingers in, drops his palm heavily enough to hurt. Lance jerks and pries his hand away.

Keith lets him, still frowning.

"Lance, I've asked you like three times today if your leg hurts and you kept saying no."

Lance's leg is already heated, already swollen and hurting from all the activity today. Keith's small touch sends pins and needles spiking through what's left of the appendage, numbness creeping like thick ivy up into Lance's hip and lower back. The pain pulls Lance under and leaves him clutching his leg, desperate for some relief. He's shaking, hot tears pooling in his eyes.

"Of course it's going to hurt when you grab it like that...!"

"It shouldn't be so swollen, Lance."

"It's fine!"

"No, it's not. You're overdoing it."

Keith's voice is quiet and even.

Lance almost misses that in his anger and he struggles to process it; Keith sits up to be closer to him, doesn't raise his voice at all, doesn't even sound accusing. He keeps his hands curled together in his own lap, and looks sorry for being so impulsive even if it did prove his point. There's no way he could have known it would hurt that badly because Lance hasn't said anything, and so much guilt turns in Lance's stomach that he has to look away, even as Keith continues,

"I get why you want to be involved in every little thing that's going on around here, Lance, but you just went through a traumatic surgery. You're supposed to be resting. I get that… that's kind of my fault, too. With the bike earlier. And I haven't been very encouraging. And I - didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry I grabbed you like that. I really should have thought before I did it…."

Lance's mouth trembles.

"Please just, slow down a little bit, okay?" Keith asks, just as even, just as quiet, never once looking away even though Lance refuses to look at him, "If you're not gonna do that for me, then do it for your family. You're worrying all of them, too. You're not as subtle as you think."

Keith says this with a tiny laugh, hoping it eases some things.

Lance stubbornly blinks the tears away, but a couple of them slide free. They take all his anger with them. Lance swipes at them with his wrist, keeps the back of his hand tucked against his face, and sobs.

"I'm fine…"

It doesn't have the impact that he wants it to. It's choked with tears and it sounds pathetic, even to his own ears. He hates being like this…. Hates feeling like this. He feels so useless.... How many times is he going to have to go through this over the same stupid leg? Lance hears Keith moving on the bed, feels Keith's arms close around him, and sinks willingly into his chest, a harsh breath leaving him even as he struggles to hold it in.

"It's okay if you're not, Lance," Keith presses the words into his hair, hugging Lance against him, "Please don't do this again."

"I n-never get to see them," Lance gasps, tears streaking his face, "I n-never get to -"

"I know. Lance. They're just glad that you're here. They don't care about what you do as long as you're here."

Keith soothes a hand back through his hair, and Lance's breath hitches in his chest. He nods. He knows that. He still - it's hard to stand out, in a family this big. Sometimes… he knows it's stupid… but sometimes he feels like they don't really miss him, or notice that he's gone. It's not a good feeling. And he knows that's not the case. He misses his family every day that he spends away from them, and he knows they miss him just as much. But it still compels him to be front and center.

It's a hard mentality to break. Especially when he wants to be involved and he wants to get up, and he wants to not feel like he's just… visiting.

Like he's not a real part of their lives anymore.

Living in space, doing what he does. It makes it hard to maintain his relationship with his family, makes it hard to be there for them whether they need him or not.

And that kills him.

Lance cries until he can't anymore. He let's Keith hold him and takes comfort in being held and petted and spoken to softly, and he feels so much better afterward. When Lance asks for his medicine and the cold compress, Keith gets up to get them for him. He doesn't have to ask for the rest. He finishes the water bottle, stumbles to go empty his bladder and rinse out his mouth, and crawls back into bed, laying across Keith's lap as Keith leans against the pillows and the headboard.

With the compress wrapped around his leg, easing the inflammation and dulling the pain as the medicine works, with Keith gently massaging the tense muscle under his careful hands, Lance sleeps.

----

While Keith is in Havana, Lance does his best to take it easy. He hadn't realized how obvious he was making his pain - that he was limping a lot, and "nervous talking" and wringing his hands instead of moving them. He starts to apologize to his parents for making everyone worry, but they're so understanding that he almost starts to cry again. 

Sylvio is great. A real champ. He accompanies Lance on his morning jogs (Lance doesn't have to go so early because Keith isn't there to wake up him at the first light of dawn when it's "too bright to sleep"). And Lance does whatever Sylvio wants in the afternoons when he gets out of school, leaving his younger nieces and nephews in the care of their grandparents. Mostly, they prowl along the beach and talk.

Lance can't resist swimming with him even though he knows he shouldn't.

Swimming is good therapy and great exercise, but the ocean is much more unpredictable than the calm, unmoving waters of the castleship's Altean pool. Lance has been craving it since he took that reckless dip his first night, and it calms him to just wade out into the surf and feel how alive the ocean is. The gentle rocking. The sounds, the smells. The water moving against his skin, the salty taste that lingers on his lips, the sand giving beneath his feet and the slight brush of fish hidden in the pristine waves.

The pool is alright, a fair enough substitute - but nothing in the whole universe compares.

----

His leg was hurting hurt pretty bad when he first woke up this morning.

Lance slept wrong, or something, and then he could barely get himself coherent and out of bed no matter how hard he tried to shake it off. Once he got up and moving around, he almost felt better. The muscles in his leg started spasming, though, and doing that thing where it goes kind of numb. Half-way through their morning jog, it did this new thing where it pinched like a lightning bolt shooting through him before giving out completely. Lance collapsed with a yell.

He scared Sylvio half to death.

His nephew had wanted to call an ambulance, but Lance had talked him out of it. He managed to get back up on his own - after a while. Sylvio's panic helped him get past the worst of the pain and keep his head, and Lance has been reassuring him all day, begging him not to tell anyone even though he knows it's terrible to make him keep it a secret.

Lance took his medicine (and a nap) as promised, and he ate something and checked his blood pressure and all that other stuff, so he's feeling a little better. His leg is moving like it should. It's not swollen.

The pain has gone down some - just in time.

The growl of the motor bike's engine heralds Keith's return much later than planned. He stayed an extra night so he could bring home Veronica, who arrived in Havana early this morning for her scheduled visit. Lance is excited to see his sister, but she knows him just as well as Keith does and has the same directness as their father. She latches onto him on the porch before he has even had the chance to say anything. She hugs him tightly, then pushes him back, glancing down.

"Your leg still hurting?"

"No, it's fine," Lance says quickly, waving her hands away and glancing around into the house, where Keith is climbing the stairs with his bag and Sylvio is glaring at Lance from the far end of the hallway. He turns to reassure his sister. "No more than usual."

"Guess that's why Sylvio is giving you the stink-eye, huh?" Veronica observes, hazel eyes narrowed.

"I -I… fell… this morning. But it's fine now!"

Veronica sighs.

"Are you only saying that it's fine so Keith doesn't put off that date you two have planned tonight?"

Wow, he really does not miss her almost psychic ability to drive directly into the heart of something. Lance mutters under his breath, still standing close to her on the porch as the sunset blooms behind her, "You are the worst combination of our parents…!"

"I'm the Alpha Sibling," Veronica says primly, "Embrace it. And go sit down, Lance."

"I can't, I have a date to get ready for. Besides, I've been sitting all day. I promise I'm fine. It doesn't hurt."

Veronica gives him that sounds fake hum of acknowledgement and follows him into the house. She is immediately swamped by their parents coming down the hall to greet her and Lance slips away upstairs, avoiding Sylvio's accusing frown from the kitchen doorway. The shower in the hall bathroom is running, the door pushed closed without catching.

Lance gets a lungful of Keith's shampoo and heavy scent and exhales slowly, smiling.

He ducks into their room to get dressed.

----

The pizza shack is just as amazing as Lance remembers it being. Same exact decor, warm red and dark leather, down to the thatched lamp shades above the table. And the garlic knots? He doesn't even want to share them with Keith; they get two seperate orders and then share a pizza with almost every available topping (Keith draws the line at pineapples and peppers because, and Lance quotes, "They don't belong on pizza." ).

Earth culture isn't something either of them have the time to keep up with, so they just pick the title that sounds like it sucks the least and time their trip to the theater accordingly.

Sitting in the dim theater, listening to the advertisements play, Lance looks up places that are going to be open past midnight where they can get a milkshake, and thinks to ask about the hotel. With everything else happening, he can't believe he forgot.

He looks at Keith.

"Did you still wanna do that?"

"Yeah," Keith says, with so little hesitation that Lance fights off a rising blush, "I booked us a room. You know that big hotel at the end of the highway?"

"Which one," Lance laughs.

"....I don't remember. I've got the information and stuff on my phone. Anyway, it had a balcony room available," Keith says, lighting Lance up with just his proud little smirk. He probably paid an arm and a leg to get a last-minute booking in any one of those places. "And it's a suite, so it's got that huge bath you wanted. I asked to make sure."

Lance takes a deep breath.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"You complaining?"

"No. Nuh-uh. Not even a little bit. Just want to publicly withdraw my petition for divorce over the whole pineapple doesn't belong on pizza debacle."

The lights fully dimming signals the start of the movie, and Lance sits up to silence his comm and put it away. He paws Keith's out of his pocket to do the same. The theater isn't crowded, and Lance picked the best seats, near the back, in the center. They've got a wide radius all to themselves because other people are idiots and can't tell where the prime seating is.

That's fine with Lance.

It means he doesn't have to worry about annoying anyone else when he comments through the entire thing.

Apparently, it's fine with Keith, too, for reasons Lance isn't suspecting. Lance is wrapped around his arm, anyway, because they both like casual contact even though there's an armrest between them. Keith's hand is in his lap while Lance fidgets with it, eventually working his way up to his sleeve, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. He misses carrying around his token and mentally berates himself for losing it, but Keith has told him a million times that he doesn't mind Lance's fidgeting hands.

Not twenty minutes into the movie - which has way more explosions than Lance thought it might, yes he's counting now and, "That makes nine. Wow. It's kinda hard to be impressed at this point." - Keith's hand dips between his thighs. Lance doesn't think anything of it at first, spreads his legs and loosens his hold on Keith's arm, one hundred and ten percent focused on the big screen in front of him as it lights up, red and gold, and noise thunders from the speakers.

"That's ten," Lance sighs, "I can't even take this seriously anymore. There's no suspense!"

Keith's fingers run along the inside seam of his jeans, down to his knee and then back up. Lance notices only when Keith plucks at the seam with his fingernail, the action sharper than his absent strokes. Lance catches his breath as that hand curls around his thigh, squeezing closer. He shoots Keith a look. Keith is smirking because he finally noticed, but his eyes are straight ahead, a medium glow between white and yellow. And all Lance is thinking about, suddenly, are those fangs of his - closing on his neck and drawing blood.

Which is probably a weird thing to get worked up about, actually. But he knows the kind of pleasure that accompanies it, and his body prickles with anticipation. Keith's teeth sinking into his skin, Keith's hands, Keith's - 

"Are you tryin'a start something with me?" Lance asks, barely raising his voice.

Keith's hand doesn't go any higher. He just keeps kneading the inside of Lance's thigh and quirks an eyebrow at him, that smirk still lifting the corner of his mouth, baring those gorgeous teeth. His irises are even glowing, bright violet.

Wow.

"Want me to?" Keith asks.

"Well you're not gonna blow me in a theater with fifteen other people around," Lance says, heated and embarrassed just saying it out loud and trying to knock that smug look off Keith's face, "So."

"You sure about that?"

Shit, Keith is more than ready to call his bluff. Why are they like this? Why are they both like this? He's pulling up Lance's shirt and thumbing the front of his jeans and dipping his head down to Lance's lap and Lance surrenders before his mouth or his hand makes contact with anything because it's - god - it's going to be too much to refuse. He can't tell if Keith is genuinely feeling frisky or if he's just being a tease. He tends to blur the line between the two - he so rarely initiates.

"Knock it off," Lance laughs, voice just a little too loud as he pulls Keith's head back up, stomach swooping, knees curling, "Keith - "

Keith pushes forward and catches his mouth in a kiss while it's busy trying to form his name. Lance is surprised, to say the least. First of all, he expects Keith to taste at least a little like their last meal: garlic. Tomato sauce. You know, pizza. Instead he tastes like he just brushed his teeth, fresh mintycoolness washing over Lance's lips the second Keith hits him, which means he's been chewing gum or tic tacs or something, which means he absolutely planned this.

Despite the mild outrage, Lance can't object to the kissing itself. He hasn't kissed Keith nearly enough lately and he's suddenly aware of that.

He's been tired in the evenings when they're finally alone together, or hurting, or passed out from the medicine (or wasted, just once). Then he had three whole nights without him, and - Keith's sharper teeth nip at his bottom lip, wet tongue lashing over the sore spot, and Lance has so many champagne bubbles of happiness popping in the pit of his stomach that he doesn't even remember where they are or what they were doing or why it's so dark and loud-

Right. The movie. Totally stupid.

Whose idea was this?

Keith's hands are under his shirt, pushing it up again in the subtle dark of the theater, playing and pinching over his sensitive skin, drawing out gasps. His mouth brushes Lance's frantic pulse as it moves down his neck, sucks a mark there high on his throat, and Lance has to fight the urge to pull Keith over into his lap, clutching at his arm and fisting a hand into the back of his hair.

He pulls that neat ponytail all to pieces.

"Do you... wanna go?" Lance pants against his mouth with Keith comes back up to kiss him again.

"Huh?" Keith breaths out, the scent of spearmint fanning over Lance's cheeks. It's comforting to know that Lance isn't the only one feeling bothered and out of sorts.

Everything is so heady. How did it get like this so fast?

"The hotel," Lance manages in between kisses. They're - Lance is - going to get really noisy really fast if Keith doesn't stop fondling his chest. He claps his hand down over Keith's, pinning it under his shirt. "When can we check in...? Does it matter?"

"You want me to get you that bad?" Keith teases, teeth grazing his jaw again, smugness apparent in his tone, in the flash of his eyes.

"I am definitely ready to scream if you're ready to get me," Lance says.

He stifles a laugh as Keith takes half a second to register what he said before hauling him up out of the seat, his cheeks flushed. That's what embarrasses him. As if Lance would forget him saying something so bold.

No one even looks their way as they leave the theater halfway through the movie. It's a fifteen minute drive to the hotel - Keith makes it in about eight. He drags their overnight bag out of the compartment and leaves the bike to the valet. They've had a little bit of a cool-down period, but the process of checking in is just taking so long. Lance can feel himself aging on the spot as he stands beside Keith at the counter, their bag slung over his shoulder, hands impatiently drumming his pleasantly numb thighs, still giddy from the ride.

Since when do so many things have to be signed just to get a room? Lance has no idea. Doesn't care. Because the clerk is passing them a key card and wishing them a comfortable stay and Keith is dragging him by the hand to the elevator doors. They're coated in gold filigree or  brass varnish - something shiny and yellow-toned that has their reflections leaping at them before the doors part to let them in.

Keith mashes the button for the 8th floor. Lance bounces on the balls of his feet. Neither of them have stopped grinning, not even for a moment.

It feels almost childish in a way.

The excitement, the anticipation.

It is momentarily quelled as Keith swipes the card and leads them into the room - or tries too. The card is backwards. Or upside down. And the second time Keith tries it, they're both laughing too hard to get it open before the door locks itself again. So there they are, leaning on each other and giggling like idiots in this brightly lit hall adorned with beautiful vases and paintings.

Third time's the charm.

They get the door open, and suite itself is just as extravagant as the hallway. Soft white carpet stretching to the sliding glass doors, the curtains tied back to showcase the view of the grounds, and the beach, the ocean sprawling into darkness and glinting with the city lights. A large bed on one side, a seating area on the other. Double closets with mirrored doors, a spacious bathroom with plush rugs and silver handles. Everything is trimmed in gold and hues of blue. The furniture polished to shine, chandelier shimmering under a mural painted on the ceiling. 

It's nice.

(It is far from the nicest room the Paladins of Voltron have stayed in, but it's the only one they've ever paid for.)

Lance slings their bag into the nearest chair, already kicking off his shoes and shrugging out of his jacket, grinning at Keith as he backs up toward the enormous bed. It's definitely big enough. Keith is yanking off his boots, stalking toward him. The set of his shoulders, the look in his eyes -

Lance's back hits the bed with an undignified squeal when Keith grabs him by the hips and throws him onto it. It's just as plush as the carpet. He sinks into the duvet without bouncing. That's a little disappointing. Then Keith is right on top of him, and it doesn't matter how too-soft anything is because Keith is kissing him, hard and hungry, pinning Lance with the length of his body and pressing his firm thigh between Lance's legs. The friction is delicious, sparks filling his belly, spilling past his lips as Lance moans into Keith's mouth and deepens the kiss. His hands pull up the back of Keith's shirt to feel the toned muscle rolling with each of Keith's movements.

"Thought you were gonna scream for me," Keith murmurs, breaking away to mouth along his jaw.

Sweet, vanilla Keith is normally content to just make out with him until the cows come home, so this statement is understandably enticing. It's got Lance's heart racing, his breath short, his cheeks nice and flushed.

It lets him know exactly what he's getting tonight.

"Thought you were gonna make me~"

He loves it when Keith is like this - assertive, rough and playful. Lance pushes his feet into the mattress to buck his hips up against Keith's. That gets him a little breathy grunt against his throat. Perfect.

Keith seizes him with his teeth, imprinting on that mark again, and Lance cries out, back arching, head tipping back as that mix of pain and pleasure bolts all the way down through his limbs, gathering low in his belly. Keith stops just shy of breaking the skin, digs in deep with a low moan, hard enough to leave a beautiful bruise. God Lance doesn't know why that feels as good as it does but it's got him breathless and shaking in an instant, pliant under Keith's mouth, working carefully over the bruise, and Keith's hands, dragging over his stomach and chest as they push under his shirt.

It's the best feeling in the world.

Keith reaches up for Lance's hands and twines their fingers together. He dips lower to trail wet kisses across Lance's chest. He keeps his weight between Lance's legs, only indulging him with a lazy shift every now and then that has Lance groaning, his legs twitching. Keith leaves bright red marks all over the top half of Lance's body. He doesn't stop Lance from squirming, gives him just enough freedom to do it, to chase some of that feeling. The bite mark on his neck throbs, a spike of pain, a curl of pleasure that thunders through him every time Keith bites into him; his clavicle, his stomach, the meat of his chest, surrounding a nipple while his tongue flicks over the sensitive nub.

That last one has Lance crying out again. His knees curling, squeezing Keith's sides, his hands tightening around Keith's fingers where they're pinned to the bed.

It sounds obscene in the brightly lit room, rings out in the open space above their heads.

That's exactly what Keith wants.

He chuckles, dropping a kiss to the center of Lance's chest, between his ribs, the rise of his abs. Lance's stomach jumps, his breath shooting in and out as he watches Keith's descent with heavy eyes. Keith let's go of his hands to unfasten his jeans and work them down over his hips along with his briefs. For every inch of skin revealed, he leaves another mark - on the V of Lance's sharp hips, down each of his thighs.

He bites the right one, scrapes it with his teeth and sucks a bruise or two into the soft skin just so Lance will groan and squirm, trying to urge him on to where he really wants him the most. The left leg Keith pauses over, mouth pressed to the inside of Lance's thigh as he glances up. He wants to know if it hurts, if he should leave it alone.

Nothing hurts right now.

Not in a bad way, at least.

Lance still doesn't want to agitate it, remembering his fall earlier, and his split-second hesitation is enough of an answer before he's really made up his mind. Keith kisses his leg, curls his hand around Lance's knee to hold it still and Lance wishes he could feel that. All the scars that Lance thinks are ugly, all the places where nerve damage makes contact sting more than anything else - any tension eases under Keith's gentle affection. It gives Lance a chance to catch his breath, to swallow the emotion rising in his throat and burning his eyes.

"Get this off," Lance complains once he's composed and his legs are free, grabbing Keith's jacket by the lapels as he pulls himself up.

He's sitting here in just a t-shirt and nothing else, and that is unfair. He eases the jacket off of Keith's shoulders while they make out, then pulls his shirt off, next. It leaves Keith's hair rumpled. That's the way Lance likes it - sticking up, looking wind-blown and wild, the dark strands sticking to his flushed cheeks and caught between his lips, framing those deep violet eyes and thick eyelashes. Lance pushes a hand through Keith's hair, matching his smile.

"That's better. You've always got too many clothes on!"

"Sorry," Keith says, kissing his lips, then his throat, "It's easy to get distracted with you."

His hand soothes up Lance's thigh and around his waist, the small of his back. Confession time: this is a big part of why Lance is so diligent with his self-care routine. So he'll be soft whenever Keith touches him, so he can feel every one of those hard-won calluses on Keith's rough hands dragging over his smooth skin. It makes him feel good, yes, but Keith wanting to touch him and hold him like this makes him feel even better.

It makes him feel so loved and wanted that he almost doesn't even know what to do.

Keith helps Lance out of his shirt next, petting him and kissing him all along the way. Lance's hands are at the front of Keith's jeans, working the belt open, the second he's got his arms out. Keith doesn't let him get very far with that. Lance is only disappointed for a second when Keith stills his quick hands. Then the grip on his waist returns, firm this time, demanding, and Keith uses his better leverage and a surge of strength to lay Lance flat and flip him over onto his stomach.

Lance's heart jumps with the movement. The sheets are cool against his heated skin, a sweet relief, and Keith's hands are burning in contrast. The drag of his palms are heavy up the back of Lance's thighs. He kneads the muscles there, cups the swell of his ass, bends over him to drop kisses all the way down Lance's spine and both dimples at his lower back.

It's slow and sweet enough that Lance has time to tell himself that's not what's happening.

Even though he's 99.99% sure That's what's happening. 

Keith bites his cheek, then, and Lance gasps, knees digging into the mattress, though he doesn't know whether it's to get away or to get more. Always hard to tell with this. Lance keeps his red face buried in the duvet, his hands curled in it. Damn. Keith really does want him to scream. His thumbs press in, spreading Lance open, tongue glazing over the sore place that his teeth left behind.

Lance pulls his face out of the duvet to pant and whine at the first press of Keith's tongue. Keith hooks an arm under one of Lance's legs to keep them apart, presses his palm into the small of Lance's back to hold him in place and stop him from rutting too much against the mattress.

Lance squirms in his hold.

He's going to lose his mind.

"Fu-uck… Keith…."

"What? Want me to stop?" Keith asks, tongue pausing only long enough to ask.

He teases Lance with another playful bite to the bruise forming on his cheek, and Lance breathes out another needy whine, shaking his head, face back in the covers to hide his embarrassment. He's so worked up already. They haven't done anything in weeks - has it seriously been a month? Longer? Before the mission before his surgery, definitely. Jesus. That's two…. Three months. And Keith just dives right in with the foreplay that's got Lance ready to shake out of his skin at any moment.

"You're not- nngh - not - kissing me... later...! Ah!"

"Fine by me," is the answer.

The confident you'll let me goes unvoiced. It drips from his tone, follows the tantalizing path of his tongue. God he's right. Keith is nasty and Lance is going to let him do whatever he wants to him, now and later, because it feels amazing, holy fuck.

Lance has never been so noisy in his life, mumbling and gasping any praises and exclamations the second they come to mind. He moans and tries to rock his hips, to get some friction to alleviate the ache pooling between his legs, but Keith keeps holding him down, doesn't let up even for a second. Lance is getting close - frustratingly close. He can feel that pressure tightening, sparking in his abdomen, building with every stroke of Keith's tongue, every teasing press of his fingertips and harsh grip of his hands, every nick of his teeth. That heat is budding out into his limbs through his heartbeat, making each moment more intense than the last.

A firm slap lands on his cheek.

It knocks Lance's voice right out of him.

It strikes like a bolt right through his center, racing white hot up his spine and settling, throbbing in his gut. Lance is trembling out of Keith's hold, every muscle in his legs quivering, stomach tense, writhing as Keith lands another firm blow on that same patch of heated skin. Lance jerks, his strangled sob muffled in the duvet, that sensation racing through him.

"Pick your head up, Lance."

Keith's low voice shudders through him, lighting every nerve along the way. Lance lifts his head, hand shaking as he lifts that too to prop his face in it. It let's all his desperate noises fall out in the open where Keith can hear them - every shout and moan as Keith's hand breaks flat against Lance's ass, every breathless whine as Keith's tongue works over him.

It's not enough, and it's too much.

All he can focus on is that building sensation. It's right there. The pleasure burning through his heavy body. Keith's hand when it finally slips between his legs and lifts his hips and squeezes him. Lance's drawn out moan is pulled in by a sharp gasp. It doesn't take much at all, just a few languid strokes, before Lance is a jerking, quivering mess between Keith's hand and mouth, his voice trembling out of him long and low.

It breaks over him like a wave. That electric instant lasts a lifetime, and then it slowly pulses out.

Lance's breath releases on a soft moan, one after another. He's dizzy, shaking, the duvet damp against his face.  Through his post-orgasm daze, he feels Keith's hands stroking the backs of his shivering thighs again, his sore cheeks, up his sides. A few kisses get dropped on his feverish skin. Keith's weight is warm and welcome as it eases over him. Keith presses a kiss to the bruised mark on Lance's shoulder as he settles on top of him, propped up on his elbows and knees so it's not his full weight but Lance is still hemmed in, comfortable and safe, underneath him.

Lance sighs, melting into the duvet.

"You okay?" Keith asks softly, "Lance?"

"Uh-huh. Holy shit am I okay. Guess you really got me good, huh?" Lance asks with a laugh, voice totally wrecked, but that pleasant heaviness makes him shudder and has him too content to care.

"As promised," Keith chuckles, nuzzling Lance's neck and the back of his head.

He's scenting, taking in big, deep breaths. Lance sighs again, relaxed, turning his head whichever way gives Keith an easier time. It's cute as hell when he does this when they're intimate. Lance can't help smiling. He's gotten used to the way Keith smells, enticing even when he's sweating, especially when they're like this. It's almost enough to lull Lance to sleep, even as Keith kisses his mark and then gently rolls his hips against Lance's ass. Lance can feel how hard he is through the press of his briefs and his open jeans.

The fabric stings a little as it brushes across his heated cheeks. That rouses him some. Lance wiggles his hips and pushes back, smirking at the low groan Keith let's out right in his ear and the way he shudders.

"Got someone all excited," Lance teases, kicking his feet lightly against the duvet between Keith's legs, "If you hadn't been so impatient we could be having actual sex right now, mullet."

"You're kind of hard to resist once you get all noisy," Keith says. Lance blushes at the depth in his voice, heavy with arousal. He continues dotting Lance's neck with kisses, soft ones. "I like it when you say my name like that. ...Also, you dropped the bag right by the door, and I didn't wanna get up. I can wait a little while."

"What, you want to get me again?"

"That's what the room is for, isn't it?"

"Didn't think you'd wanna marathon or anything."

Lance can't quite keep the eagerness out of his tone. He wants to stretch and roll over, and move away from the mess underneath him, so he pushes up. Keith shifts to let Lance move to a different spot on the huge bed and settles down on top of him again once Lance is on his back among the pillows this time. Lance grins up at him, rubbing his hands along Keith's sides.

Keith remembers what he said about not kissing him, which Lance realizes is really unfortunate.

Keith kisses his shoulder, instead.

He starts to move down.

Lance's weary heart kicks in his chest again. Keith is unbearably gentle this time, kissing each red bruise that he made only minutes ago, licking each bite mark. He rubs a finger over the heavy bruise around Lance's right nipple and watches it rise, still red and sore from too much attention. He mouths at the other one, instead, and Lance sucks in a sharp breath, let's out a huff and squirms.

"Not gonna waste any time, are you?"

"Do you want me to slow down?" Keith asks, meeting Lance's eyes as he moves lower to lick the drying mess off his stomach.

Lance's face heats up, but he let's him.

"No. Take… take these off, Keith," Lance says, voice already ghosting past his lips.

He lifts a foot around Keith's waist and pushes his jeans down with his heel. Keith sits up to do as he says, quickly stripping out of the confining material and coming right back to task. He laps over the defined muscle of Lance's stomach, hands slipping down to his waist, and Lance is already feeling flushed and sensitive from the attention, from seeing Keith leaning over him like that when he's -

"Keith. Do you want me to -?"

"Nope. Want you to relax, Lance."

"I'm relaxed. I'm way relaxed. I can't blow you?"

Oh, Lance has got him there. Keith hesitates, considering it. Lance nudges him with his heel again, playfully pushing him back and grinning triumphantly when Keith huffs a laugh and gets up.

Only he gets all the way up, off the bed, and strides across the room.

Lance doesn't use the word pout lightly… but it's exactly what he does, bottom lip popping out and eyebrows creasing. Sitting up on the bed makes him very aware of just how big it is, how expansive the room is now that Keith is on the other side of it. Keith picks up their bag from where Lance dropped it in the chair and comes right back to him, swinging it onto the bed ahead of himself.

He unzips the top and digs through it.

They each brought a change of clothes, toiletries. They brought a blanket from home that smells like them, so Keith can sleep; and lube and condoms. Lance mourns the duvet they've already ruined when Keith tosses that familiar purple box up next to him. Should have thought about that - it makes clean-up so much easier.

Keith takes the bottle of mouthwash and pours a huge swig of it into his mouth, swishing as he walks to the bathroom to rinse. He's very big on scents, and taste, and Lance - well, he isn't. It's kind of rude. But it's not his thing. He doesn't like kissing after oral. Lance watches Keith go, smiling like an idiot and burning with affection. While Keith is doing that, Lance clears the bed; retrieves the lube and drops their bag to the floor, kicks their scattered clothes off after it. Might as well leave the duvet until they're done. It would be super embarrassing having to ask for new sheets.

Lance is on his knees and emphatically patting the cushy duvet with both hands when Keith comes back into the room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He laughs at Lance's antics, crawling to him on the bed and settling down where Lance wants him. 

Keith's woefully pale skin is actually a little sunkissed now, the red from his initial sunburn having tanned nicely. He normally hides under a shirt, so there are lines hugging both biceps, cutting across his collarbones. There is a very faint line across the bridge of his nose where his hair falls into his face. Lance traces it with the tip of his finger, smiling when Keith scrunches his nose, eyes narrowing in a look that only pretends to be annoyed. Keith should really be used to this by now. And he can't say anything, anyway, when he stares at Lance all star-struck half the time, too.

Like he is right now.

Those grey-violet eyes latch onto his and hold when Lance glances up, a hundred facets of color flashing in the chandelier lights. Lance can see himself reflected in them if he looks hard enough.

He leans down to kiss Keith, more than pleased with the soft exhale that meets his lips.

Keith's fingers have been rubbing over his thigh, tracing the scars splintering his left leg above the prosthetic. Lance only notices when the touch moves with more purpose, up to his hip - his leg is numb. It doesn't hurt. But it's got those heavy pins and needles sinking into it like it's asleep, and the unhappy twist in Lance's chest that accompanies it is hard to unfurl.

Lance kisses Keith to distract himself, shifting the way he's sitting, hoping that will fix it.

It does.

The feeling returns, nerves burning ice cold under Keith's soothing fingers. The contact makes his leg spasm. Keith notices when he tenses up and stops kissing him, his hands pausing, pulling back.

"Lance," Keith says his name so softly.

His brow furrows in question.

Lance is not about to let his ill-tempered leg ruin Date Night. It takes enough from him already.

He insists, "I'm fine, Keith."

"You just saying that?" Keith asks.

"I'm fine enough to keep doing what we're doing," Lance says, trailing kisses down Keith's neck to prove his point, and though Keith is hesitating he still tips his head back with a sigh. Lance sucks at his pulse point, leaving a mark that matches the one Keith left on him back at the theater.

"Stop if you need to," Keith says, his breath getting quicker, eyes closed, "It's fine. Okay?"

"Okay."

Lance has no intention of stopping until Keith comes down his throat, but he doesn't say that out loud. His hand wanders lower, grazing over the firm muscles of Keith's stomach, his sharp hip bones. He kisses Keith's chest, a pert nipple, and makes Keith jump. Lance chuckles. But Keith doesn't like to be bit and teased so he only gives the nub a little attention before moving on to the other. Just that much has Keith sighing, totally relaxed against the pillows.

When Lance wraps a hand around him and starts stroking, slowly, his whole body jumps.

It's cute, and Lance can't help sneaking glances up at him.

Keith is gorgeous.

The handsome blush coloring his face and neck, thick eyelashes dusting his cheeks; the shape of his cheekbones and nose; his dark hair fanned out around him like a halo on the white pillow cases, the ends just curling over his broad shoulders, under his jaw. His chest rising and falling with anticipation as Lance kisses his way down his stomach. That deep uhn that leaves his parted lips and the way his hips press up when Lance finally takes him in his mouth.

It's unfair what that one small noise does to Lance. He practically feels the vibration of it all the way down in his stomach. It trips and lights him up from the inside out, makes him want to hear more. Keith is always so quiet, in the beginning Lance had thought that he was doing something wrong, or else was embarrassed by how vocal he tends to be.

But they're just very, very different. And every sound he does coax out of Keith is worth the effort.

Keith's hands are getting restless. He doesn't know what to do with them when he's the one getting attention. One falls on top of Lance's head as he works up into a slow rhythm, rolling his tongue and taking Keith down as far as he can, which is all the way within a few moments. It gets those great punched out little moans breaking in Keith's throat, gets his feet pushing into the mattress and his fingers tightening in Lance's hair and his thighs tensing.

Keith turns his other hand palm up on the bed, and Lance folds his own free hand around it to give him something else to hold, so make sure he feels safe, and loved, and comfortable. Keith squeezes his hand, tips his chin against his chest as he watches Lance with hooded eyes, glowing yellow, irises little more than black slits, and boy if that isn't a turn on. Lance doubles his efforts, sees the gorgeous muscles in Keith's stomach contracting as he gets closer and closer to climax, hears his breath hitching on the smallest whimpers.

"Lance… I…."

Lance hums encouragingly.

He knows exactly what that voice means; relaxes his jaw, works his throat and bobs his head down one last time, nose pressing into Keith's navel. Keith's orgasm seizes him hard, has his back arching off the bed with a deep moan that's almost a growl, leaves him gasping breathlessly and groaning softly. Lance swallows everything he has until Keith calms down and stops those tiny little thrusts his hips are doing.

Lance pulls off and sits back, grinning impishly.

That was quicker than normal.

He doesn't even get the chance to make a show of licking his lips - Keith grabs him by the elbows and pulls Lance up, against him, and smashes their mouths together. It's a little painful, teeth catching, noses bumping, but Lance adjusts right away. He gets his balance, tilts his head and parts his lips, and Keith's tongue is slipping hungrily into his mouth, tasting himself on Lance's tongue.

Lance doesn't like that - but Keith does, so he gets a pass.

Lance finds purchase on the bed with his knees, trying to stay aware of where his leg is when Keith tangles them all together, not wanting to hit Keith where it counts with his prosthetic knee. He's done it before, a couple of times. It's never fun for either of them. He finally gets a hand in Keith's hair, damp with sweat, and enjoys how soft it is gripped between his fingers, the quiet sound Keith makes into his mouth.

The heat pans out after several more kisses.

Keith reaches out with one hand, groping for the edge of the duvet.

When he gets ahold of it he pulls it and rolls across the bed, taking Lance and the blanket with him for one small rotation that has them both cozily wrapped in the puffy duvet, tangled more closely than ever. Lance is laughing while Keith kisses his face. His hair is tickling them both and Lance blows out a breath, working his hand out from in between them to brush it aside. It feels really nice being held in Keith's arms and squeezed against him by the duvet.

It's soft and cool in places, darker from where it has folded over their heads, and warming quickly from their body heat and combined breathing. It's like a secret place all to themselves.

Keith probably did it for the smell.

He's nosing at Lance's neck again, lapping at his mark.

"'M gonna fall asleep if you keep doing that," Lance says after clearing his throat.

"Fine with me," Keith says, keeping it up.

Lance laughs and tightens his arms around Keith, turning his face into Keith's hair. He shifts back when Keith lifts his head to look at him.

"Is your leg okay?"

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. Just went kinda numb for a minute, I think I was just sitting on it wrong," Lance says, petting his head to reassure him and smiling, "It's nothing you did, Keith. It feels okay now."

Keith hums, his eyebrows still creased, showcasing his worry. His hand runs up Lance's hip.

"We still gonna have sex?" Lance asks, "Like actual sex?"

"If you want."

"Oh," Lance huffs, with good humor, "What, you got off so you're good now, huh? One and done?"

Keith hums again and closes his eyes. The corners of his mouth are pinched together and Lance can tell the idiot is faking it, trying not to smile. He lifts a hand to swat Keith's face, demands, "Don't you fall asleep on me, I'm not done talking to you, I have some demands! Helloooo. Keith. Hola, te amo, por favor ponme atenci ó n."

"I'm paying attention to you, Lance," Keith mumbles from underneath his hand.

Lance lifts it, grinning, so he can see Keith's face. His eyes are bright in the semi-dark of the rolled duvet. He still looks worried… vulnerable. There's that weird pause again - like he has something to say but can't bring himself to do it. Lance lowers his hand, gently this time, and brushes the pads of his fingers over Keith's face, the bridge of his nose, his perfect cheekbones.

"What, Keith?" Lance asks, voice barely there at all.

Keith blinks at him. Once. Twice.

He sucks in a breath.

"I love you."

Lance breaks into what he knows is a completely stupid smile. He feels like he just had a shot of tequila, warmth pouring all the way down to the soles of his feet.

"I love you, too."

Oh. He lost eye contact. Keith's gaze darts away, his brow creasing even more, heat rising in his cheeks. Lance feels his own face flush in response and he doesn't know why, or what's wrong.

"Did…." Keith hesitates. They're literally nose to nose in the confines of each other's arms and he still finds a way to avoid looking at Lance. What a pro. "Did you hear me?"

"I must not have," Lance decides, heart pounding.

"I said I love you."

"Oh, that. Yeah, I definitely heard that. Because I said I love you, too, Keith."

If they weren't tortilla-ed in the duvet, Lance is positive Keith would be considering bolting. This closeness feels awkward now. Keith is tense. Lance is frantically trying to land on what the problem is, what he might have said - Oh. He said it. Lance feels like an idiot. Just when he opens his mouth - he doesn't even know what he's going to say - Keith ducks his head into Lance's shoulder, hiding it from view.

His arms close around Lance and hold him securely. His breath huffs out, diaphragm shaking, and Lance thinks he might be crying. But it's a soft laugh that tickles his neck, and all of that worry evaporates.

"Sorry," Keith murmurs.

"For what, Keith?"

"Being stupid."

"I didn't mean to make you feel like that."

"You didn't. It's me. I… I've been wanting to say that for a while. For so long, Lance. I just hyped it up in my head, I guess." Keith is quiet for a while. Lance stays quiet, too. Lets him think while he rubs Keith's back, combs his fingers through his hair. "I should have told you that I love you so much sooner. I should have said it as soon as I felt it. I… I don't know why I didn't…."

"Keith," Lance says, holding him back just as tightly, face pressed into his hair, "You tell me that you love me every moment that I'm with you."

"Oh."

That word does waver, just a little. Lance takes Keith's head between his hands and eases him up from his shoulder so he can kiss his face. His nose, his wet eyes; kisses dropped across his cheeks and finally his smiling mouth just as another chuckle makes itself heard. Lance loves that sound. Keith's gentle amusement breaking the quiet of their private little world.

"I love you, Lance," Keith says softly.

"I love you, too, Keith." Lance chuckles, "You don't have to, but I'm glad you're saying it. It's nice hearing it when you're actually awake."

Keith blinks at him. His soft eyes widen in shock, eyebrows pinching together.

"What?"

"You say it in your sleep sometimes," Lance says. For his part, he hasn't lost the tender look. And he laughs outright when Keith groans noooo and hides his face behind his hand, lowering it to Lance's shoulder again. He hugs Keith tighter. "Sometimes when you're feeling snuggly you say it a lot . And you do this."

Lance rubs his nose into Keith's hair, his ear, the slope of his neck. It tickles, and Keith's shoulders jump. Lance pulls away, laughing, kissing his temple.

"I'm such an idiot," Keith says it like he can't believe it, exasperated with himself.

Lance hums in agreement, a laugh startling out of him when Keith makes a face and grabs his sides with both hands. His knee comes up on reflex, hitting Keith in the hip, and they wrestle together for about five seconds, shouting and laughing, before they realize the duvet is too tight of a space for this kind of tomfoolery.

"The box of condoms is digging into my ass," Lance says, reaching behind him and pushing at the duvet. Keith laughs loudly. "Keith! Unwrap us!"

"I'm trying, be still!"

With some effort, they get themselves untangled. Lance tosses the abused box and the wayward lube onto the bedside table once he finds them both and he sits up. He props his hand against the bed and looks at Keith.

"Still waiting on that confirmation, by the way," he says.

Keith looks up from straightening out the duvet.

"Confirmation for what?"

"Actual sex. Yes? No? Because if No then I want a shower and then a long bath, if you wanna take one with me. And food again. And I was promised a milkshake at some point tonight. Do you think room service would bring us milkshakes? Because I really don't want to have to leave again, but I think I deserve a milkshake after a performance like that. There's usually a menu or something in the - "

Lance is reaching for the nightstand.

Keith is reaching for Lance, and turns his head toward him with a hand grasping his chin.

He kisses the words right out of Lance's mouth, slow and heavy, tongue pressing between parted lips, hand sliding around to cup the back of Lance's neck. It's so easy to forget anything else exists. The world could be burning right now, and Lance wouldn't even notice. His perception is narrowed down to each point of contact - the pads of Keith's fingers, his lips and tongue and teeth, the press of his body, his pulse beating steady beneath Lance's. The way their stomach press together as Lance pulls Keith down on top of him, their coupled laughter.

"That a -?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Lance chuckles, "I love you, Keith."

"I love you, too, Lance. I love you so much."

Keith says it in between kisses this time, murmurs it into Lance's skin as if to brand him with the words, as if his every action hasn't already taken care of that. Lance is so happy that he gets to be like this with Keith, even if it's just this. Just soft touches and shared breaths, and three softly spoken words.

Chapter Text

Keith wakes up in small increments.

Lips brushing over his shoulder. Long fingers combing back his hair and raking gently at his scalp, careful not to tug any tangles made from sleep. Wet, lingering kisses trailing up the slope of his neck, touching just behind his ear. Hands tracing soft patterns down his arms and mapping his scars; over his chest to feel the shift of his breath; slipping lower.

There's a warm, heavy sigh as Lance nuzzles into his hair.

"Lance? Are you awake?" Keith murmurs, voice still scratchy in his throat around the bubble of amusement, "Or are you groping me in your sleep again?"

"Kinda both," Lance answers.

He moves one of his hands up again, cupping Keith's chest. His thumb flicks playfully over a nipple, and Keith laughs, jumping. He clasps his hands over Lance's and lifts his head out of the pillow, turning slightly in his arms. Lance takes the hint and leans up to kiss to the corner of Keith's mouth. What Keith really wants is an actual kiss, but he also doesn't want to move right now.

Too warm and too comfortable.

Lance drops his lips to Keith's shoulder, instead, and kisses the narrow scar he has there that wraps his shoulder from front to back - a memento of his first Trial with the Blades. That seems like so long ago now. Like a completely different lifetime.

"You gonna finish what you started?" Keith asks, arching into Lance's touch, pressing his hips back.

He keeps his hands over Lance's even when they start to move again, a feather-light caress down the length of his body. Over his stomach, his thighs.

"You want me to?"

"Mhm."

Lance chuckles, kissing his neck.

----

Keith is freaking out.

A little.

Not in relation to the sex or anything, just - well. It's a poor segue. He's fine at first. He's calm. He knows the plan. He has turned it over in his head a hundred times, even though he knows things are probably not going to go as smoothly as he wants them to. Nothing ever does. Look at last night, and the whole I love you thing?

Keith is an idiot.

His plan wasn't very thought-out to begin with, and he's already chickened out twice.

He's impulsive. Lance is impulsive.

They both kind of just do a lot of things spur-of-the-moment, so it's hard for one of them to plan things without consulting the other. Just because Keith is good at surprising Lance doesn't mean it's easy. Lance is too observant - but he's also kind of oblivious, given the right distraction. Date Night was a definitive part of Keith's plan for a reason. The hotel wasn't, but it was a great improvisation. It was nice getting to be with Lance, and take a long bath together, and cuddle, and sleep in, not having to worry about an alarm going off or someone calling one of them away.

But the second Lance hops in the shower so he can get ready to leave, Keith's panic rises in his chest like it's just been waiting to pounce. He occupies his hands with tidying up the room a bit. He gathers up their scattered belongings. He strips the sheets off the bed and bundles them into the pillow cases because it seems rude to him to leave them when they're a mess. He folds away the blanket that they brought from home. He picks his jacket up from the floor and checks the pockets.

The phone Agent Morrow gave him has a few missed calls and one exasperated voicemail about how they shouldn't be making a game out of ditching their security details.

Keith deletes it without responding to it.

He pulls out his comm from the same pocket, and paces out onto the balcony with his jacket in tow, sliding the glass door closed. The wind rocks against him. That's something that he does kind of miss about being planetside - atmosphere. Weather. It stormed on the ocean last night. Lance had climbed out of bed to pull the curtains back, and they had both fallen asleep to the distance sound of thunder. The dark clouds are still chasing across the horizon line, but the balcony is dry, the handrail warm under the morning sun when Keith leans his elbows against it.

His hand is shaking as he turns his communicator around and thumbs through his contacts, and selects one to call. It only rings a few tics before Hunk's face appears across the screen, grinning when he spots Keith.

"Hey, man, what's up?"

"Hey," Keith says, pushing a hand through his hair, looking away, "I can't do this."

Hunk's grin falls away. He sets down whatever he's doing, a soft clatter in the background, all of his attention caught by the look on Keith's face as he nervously rubs his thumb along the smooth edge of the black communicator.

"Okay," Hunk says calmly, "You're nervous, I get it. But it's not a big thing, Keith, it's- "

"It is a big thing. It's a huge thing, Hunk."

"You're absolutely right, it is a huge thing, okay, what I meant was: Dude, there is no pressure. None at all. Do not feel obligated to follow through just because you already went to so much trouble, or because you think you should, okay? If you're not ready to do this, then you don't have to do it. End of story. ….I feel like you've got a question in there, you wanna tell me what it is and get it outta your system?"

Keith hesitates, chewing his lip.

"What if…. what if he doesn't want this too….?"

Hunk is a great friend. He has heard all of these senseless worries a hundred times before, and he doesn't roll his eyes, or groan, or undermined them in anyway just because Keith is second-guessing himself at the last moment. Second-guessing his instincts, and everything he knows and loves about Lance. Hunk's voice remains gentle, his brown eyes warm with understanding, "Keith. You're not gonna know what Lance wants until you ask him."

Something as simple as that should have occurred to Keith. It's wild what common sense that anxiety will hold back in the face of something new.

"Seriously," Hunk adds, "Don't hype yourself up about this, man."

Keith sighs, rubbing his forehead.

"I did that already…."

Last night, when he told Lance he loved him…

"Oh," Keith says.

Hunk is grinning at him again. "You have yourself a little epiphany there?"

"Shut up," Keith laughs, "Thanks, Hunk."

"No problem, Keith. I'm here if you need me." Hunk claps his hands together, finally allowing his own enthusiasm to spill out, "Puh- lease, please, please call me the second this is happening, okay? I need every detail! I better be the first person the hear about this -"

"Okay, okay!"

"Seriously, Keith, it's gonna go fine!" There's a loud noise off to the side, and Hunk looks away. "Okay, I gotta go, actually, are you good, man?"

"I'm good," Keith says. Hunk shoots him a big grin and a thumbs up. "Talk to you later."

Keith closes out of the call - just in time. He hears Lance's voice through the glass, calling for him, and steps back to slide the door open.

"I'm outside," Keith calls.

"That view is amazing, isn't it?" Lance calls back. He's still in the bathroom, but the shower is off. The whole room smells like him, the citrus-sweet scent of his shampoo and body lotion. Keith breathes in deeply as he steps into it, closing the balcony door behind him and glancing out at the view. It is amazing - the white beaches, the dark blue waves - but he's more interested in Lance. "I was wondering why you didn't answer me. C'mere, I need you."

"What's wrong?" Keith asks.

"Nothing, I just need you to put lotion on my back."

"You need me to put lotion on your back?"

"Yes, Keith, I need you to put lotion on my back."

Lance is already stepping out of the bathroom by the time Keith gets to the door. There's a towel around his waist, and he's expertly wrapping a smaller one around his head while still holding the bottle of lotion. He twists the end of the towel and tucks it under so it won't come loose. His face is covered in green stuff.

Keith is smirking as he takes the lotion. He tosses it onto the bed, turns back to Lance.

"Hey, guacamole face," he says.

"Every time you say that it gets less funny," Lance says, "Amazing."

"You still call me mullet."

"What's your point?"

Keith grabs him by the elbows and pulls him in, and Lance doesn't realize what he's going to do until Keith has already leaned down, is just inches away. Lance digs his heels in, gasps, "No! Don't-" He breaks off on an aggravated sigh through his nose as Keith kisses him firmly, smearing the mask around his mouth and nose when he presses their faces together.

Keith breaks away with a cheesy pop , unable to contain his laughter despite the look on Lance's face. He sure likes giving goofy kisses, but he doesn't like receiving them.

"You're killing me," Lance grumbles, "You're gonna get it all over me…!"

He still tilts his head aside when Keith kisses his neck, the pulse in his throat, the slope of his shoulder. Keith pauses over the fresh bite mark. The cuts from his teeth are already closing up again, but the bruise is a vivid blue this morning, red around the edges, purple near the center. Keith doesn't ask if it hurts. He closes his mouth over it, rubs over each of the sharp-tasting indents with his tongue, and feels Lance instantly relax in his arms, leaning heavily against him.

That pleasant feeling flutters low in Keith's stomach, leaping up through his chest in sparks. He loves the way Lance tastes. The way he smells. The little noises he makes in Keith's ear.

The laugh that is deep from his chest.

"Unless you… wanna climb right back into bed, you better knock it off."

"Sorry," Keith chuckles.

He wraps his arms around Lance more securely and just hugs him tightly for a moment, reveling in how much of his own scent that Lance carries. Keith nuzzles his neck subconsciously, making sure he smells as much like Lance as he possibly can. Lance has his chin resting on Keith's shoulder so he doesn't smear his face mask all over Keith's clothes or get it in his hair, and he laughs again, softly.

"I literally just took a shower," he complains, hands swatting the broad planes of Keith's back.

Keith gives him one final squeeze before pulling back, a little embarrassed. Lance is grinning at him, though. He leans back in to poke the tip of his nose against Keith's and puffs out a small laugh against his lips. Keith can't help smiling back.

"Is this normal post-cycle clinginess?" he asks, "Or is something on your mind, Keith."

Keith starts to blurt it out right then.

"It's nothing," he decides, "I just love you."

Watching Lance's reaction to those words last night had really been something else - it is no different now, except for all the green goo covering Lance's face and hiding that perfect flush of color across his cheeks. Keith still sees it at the tips of his ears. Lance's blue eyes widen slightly in surprise, but a second later all that rich love is pouring out into a wide, bashful smile. Lance grabs Keith's face and pulls him into another kiss.

They're both too stupid for their own good.

That face mask is bitter.

It smells nice, and it feels nice, but it tastes like licking acid and sour grapes. Keith and Lance both jerk apart the second it's on their tongues, groaning and making faces, and then busting out in dismayed laughter. Keith wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, bent double against Lance.

"Your face is gross," he gasps the second he has any air.

"Shut! Up!" Lance wheezes, smacking his back.

Lance sits on the edge of the bed, still breathless with laughter, fanning his face. His eyes are closed, a few tears squeezing out and streaking through the offending mask. Keith sits beside him and lifts the end of the towel around his waist, putting it in his mouth to wipe the taste off his tongue. Lance's hands smack at him, his giggles picking up again, "Oh my god, stop!"

In the end, Lance pulls the towel off his head to prematurely wipe what's left of the face mask off of both of them before they make an even bigger mess. Keith lays back on the bed with his feet resting on the floor, catching his breath. Lance thwaps him in the stomach with the folded-up towel, and Keith grunts in surprise, his knees jumping.

"You're ruining my skincare routine!"

"I'll behave," Keith promises, grinning at him.

He sits up, plants a single kiss on Lance's neck, and then grabs the bottle of lotion from where he threw it down on the mattress. Lance pulls his legs up onto the bed and turns around, dabbing at his face while Keith works the lotion into his back. He kneads Lance's broad shoulders, careful not to touch his mark, knowing the lotion will sting; he traces the cut of Lance's shoulders blades and along the wide edges of the scar covering his back. It's more of a discoloration than anything else, a splattering of bare skin that is slightly pinker than his dark natural tone.

It's difficult to even see unless you know it's there.

Keith presses his thumbs into the dimples at Lance's lower back, squeezing his hips. Lance jumps and laughs. Keith runs his hands up and down again a couple of times to make sure all the lotion is rubbed in. When he pats Lance's back, his palm sticks.

"All done," he says.

Lance doesn't move to get up.

Instead, he asks, "Are you invigorated?"

It's an odd question, even for Lance.

Keith hesitates, "By… this, specifically? Or… in general?"

Lance is looking at the ceiling, his head tipped back, obviously embarrassed about bringing it up.

"Uh. In general. I guess. Like." He makes an indecipherable motion with his hands, then bows his head and rubs the back of his neck. "Relationship-wise."

Keith gives it some thought - the question itself, not his answer.

"Are you asking if you're meeting all my physical and emotional needs?" he asks, unsure.

"Y… yeah."

Keith touches his elbow, urging Lance around until they're facing each other and he can hold Lance's hands. Lance's head is down, eyes flitting nervously, fingers closing tightly around Keith's. Keith waits a tic, tilts his head, and Lance glances up at him.

"Yeah. You definitely are, Lance," Keith says. Lance huffs and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, trying not to smile. "Are you invigorated? Relationship-wise?"

"Yeah," Lance laughs, looking at their joined hands, "Sorry. That was… a dumb question."

"It wasn't," Keith says softly, "I love you."

"I love you too."

Keith leans in to press a kiss to Lance's mouth. While he's there, he murmurs, "If you love me, you'll hurry up and get dressed. We've gotta be out of here by noon."

Lance laughs once, indignant, and shoves him, knocking Keith over onto the bed and standing up.

"That's rude! I've got plenty of time!"

"Earth hours are shorter."

"Okay, they are and I hate it, I don't know how anyone gets anything done during the day because it's impossible, but you're the one getting us off task this time, mullet. This one is not on me."

Well, that's true.

Keith rolls upright and grabs the edge of his towel as Lance steps away, and yanks it off his waist. Lance shrieks theatrically - "Rude! This is what I'm talking about, Keith -" 

Keith reaches out, quick as lightning, and smacks Lance's ass before he can cover himself or retreat, enjoying the noise Lance let's out in surprise and the way his skin colors from the force of the playful blow. He made sure to slap the cheek he didn't abuse last night, so he knows it didn't hurt. Lance's blush rushes all the way down his chest and the glare he shoots Keith over his shoulder is more genuine, embarrassed.

That's just as satisfying as the slap itself.

"Get dressed, Lance."

Keith makes sure to pitch his voice deep. He sits back on the edge of the bed, smirking, knees spread.

Lance points at him, can absolutely tell that Keith is just teasing this time.

"You're pushing it."

Keith can't even hold it in.

"I'm sorry," he laughs, "I love you."

"Ooho, that does not get you out of trouble, Kogane!"

Lance snatches up his clothes from the chair where he put them earlier and hurries into the bathroom before Keith can act out again. Still grinning, Keith flops back to lay on the bed. The bare mattress is kind of itchy without the sheets on it, and it doesn't smell like them, but it's not enough of a bother for Keith to get up just yet. He listens to water running in the sink, the small sounds of movement as Lance washes his face, and gets dressed, and salvages what's left of his routine - he stares up at the mural painted on the ceiling without really seeing it, immersed in his thoughts.

"Are you mad?" Keith asks.

"No," Lance chuckles.

"Good. Cause I have another surprise."

"Okay, I lied, I am a little mad. What is it?"

"It's a surprise, Lance."

"You're the reason I have a problem with keeping my blood pressure under control, you know that?"

"You think my blood pressure's any better?"

"Alright fine. What's the surprise?"

"The whole point of a surprise is not knowing what it is, Lance."

Lance doesn't say anything. Keith can hear him closing lids and shoving things back into the bag, the zipper pulling closed in a motion that sticks once before it gets back on track. Lance cuts the bathroom light off and dumps their bag on the floor right by the door, striding over to the bed. He plants his hands on his hips. Keith meets his determined look with an arched eyebrow.

He looks good like this - a bright blue tank top over white jeans showcasing his wide shoulder and lithe body. There are a few thin scars on his arms, maring his dark skin, but they don't detract from how handsome Lance is. If anything, they make the flash of his blue eyes even more intense.

Keith's stomach jumps.

"What's the surprise, Keith?"

"Guess you'll find out."

Lance dives to grab both his ankles and yanks Keith's legs straight. He tugs Keith almost completely off the bed until he's hanging parallel to the floor, and Keith yelps out a laugh, hands gripping awkwardly at the edge of the mattress for purchase. He can't kick out to free himself. His shoulders are barely on the bed at all, holding most of his weight, his body tense to stop himself from slipping further.

"Lance."

"You gonna tell me what the surprise is or are you gonna fall to your death?"

"Fine, alright! Put me down," Keith demands, hating and loving the grin on Lance's stubborn face, "I wanted to take you to the beach!"

"It's Cuba, Keith. Some of the most beautiful and diverse beaches in the world are here, you'll have to be more specific than -"

"Your beach," Keith clarifies, "Your favorite beach."

Lance blinks at him.

"You were gonna take me there?"

"Yeah."

"You don't even know where it is."

"I asked your dad. He gave me directions."

"Yeah," Lance chuckles, "But you're terrible with directions. You'd just get us lost."

"The bike has a GPS."

"That doesn't mean anything with you."

He let's go of Keith's legs one at a time so Keith can get his feet under him and sit on the floor. Keith relaxes, leaning back against the bed frame. He tugs his shirt back into place from where it's twisted up around his ribs. Lance steps over him and turns, and Keith ducks his head so Lance can sit behind him on the edge of the bed with his legs draped over Keith's shoulders.

Lance holds Keith's face between his hands, tipping his head back so they can look at each other.

"You're the sweetest person I know, Keith," Lance murmurs.

"Thanks," Keith says, grinning.

Lance's laughter tickles his forehead.

"Wow. So humble," Lance says, "And people think I have a big head. We're a pair, huh? Why do you do so much stuff for me, mullet? You know you don't have to."

"I do it because it makes you happy, Lance," Keith says, smiling up at him.

Lance obviously isn't expecting him to come right out and say this - as if he hasn't said it before - because he looks shocked an instant before that bashful smile takes over. Keith is never going to get tired of being the one that makes Lance look like that, the focal point for all that love. He feels it anchored in his own chest. Lance's cheeks are ruddy and dark. His blue eyes are brighter than the sun glinting off the clearest, calmest ocean, and they crinkle up at the corners.

"Know what makes me happy?" Keith asks.

"This," Lance says, soft and warm, rubbing his thumb against Keith's cheekbone. Keith hums in agreement, and closes his eyes. Lance kisses the top of his head and then presses his forehead against Keith's, curling his arms around Keith's neck to hug his shoulders. "This makes me happy, too, y'know. I love you, Keith."

"I know. I love you, too, Lance."

It really is freeing, saying that out loud.

"Are you ready to go?" Keith asks.

"Yeah," Lance says. He nods his head toward the wide glass doors, grins, "Let's take a picture on the balcony together first, though."

"You didn't take enough pictures of us last night while we were laying here?"

He took some embarrassing photos last night, but Keith let him. Lance is the only one that's ever going to see them, and he doesn't really care either way. He knows Lance likes taking photos. Keith - doesn't like to admit how much he likes having them, too.

He wishes he had photos of Shiro. And his Dad.

He's glad to have a hundred of Lance.

"Keith," Lance says, "El amor de mi vida. The answer to that question is always going to be no, Keith. I will never have enough photos of you. You're beautiful, and I love you. Also, I'll take us to the beach! You got this awesome bike and I haven't even gotten to drive it yet, and you will definitely get us lost if you try to take us there yourself. I love you."

"Sounds like it, yeah," Keith laughs, "Don't trust me to drive."

"I trust you with my life, babe! But not with directions. Hop up!"

"Okay, okay - stop pushing me back down...!"

----

The drive out to that tiny secluded beach takes a longer than Lance remembers. Time goes by much faster crammed into the back seat of a dusty old car playing word games with all his brothers and sisters, laughing and singing along with the radio, and between the engine rumbling and the wind shooting past, he and Keith can't exactly talk. The helmets are just so they don't crack their skulls open on the pavement - no built-in comm system.

Space has really spoiled them.

They stop for lunch along the way, though. Lance shows Keith a few of the tourist stops that he's familiar with, and they take a lot of stupid pictures together.

It feels like an addendum to their date night - a tiny adventure for just the two of them.

Lance loves it.

The beach parking lot is empty when Lance pulls into it off the equally deserted highway. It wasn't used very much when he was younger, and things don't seem to have changed very much. It has been repaved, the parking lines relatively new. Lance kills the engine and kicks the stand into place, and settles both feet on the ground as he pulls off his helmet. He already misses having Keith's arms around his middle the second they're gone.

Keith climbs off the bike first.

Lance follows him, his left leg taking all his weight as he swings his right leg over.

He doesn't think anything about the motion. That's his first mistake. His second is not holding on more securely to the bike. A tug, electric, needle-sharp, shoots through his thigh, into his hip, and his prosthetic leg buckles before he even has his right leg over the seat. Lance yelps, dropping like a stone, and it's lucky that Keith is standing close enough to catch him.

Both their helmets clatter across the pavement.

The bike wobbles precariously.

"Lance."

Keith pulls him off the bike and eases him down, holding him tightly.

Lance doesn't know whether it's that - Keith squeezing his arms to his chest - or the pain sneaking upward, making his leg jerk, that steals his breath away. His lungs ache, his breath too short. His head is spinning. The pain in his leg is so much worse. It's insatiable, gnawing its way through his nerves. That sharp tug pulls tighter, the muscle drawing hard, and Lance doesn't know whether to curl up or stretch out, helplessly clutching at his thigh.

Keith grabs his arm, eases him back. He circles Lance's thigh with both his hands, feeling out the muscles as they spasm painfully. Lance bites back a sound, his leg jerking. His fingers dig into Keith's shoulder, and he knows he needs to be still, and stay put, but it's hard not to writhe and jerk away. Keith doesn't even flinch. He holds Lance in place, gently but firmly applying pressure, pushing his palm along the inside of Lance's thigh.

Lance is whimpering, gasping for air.

Keith talks to his quietly and reminds him to take slow deep breaths. All the way in, count to five, and let it out. Keep doing it. Just like that, Lance.

After a few minutes - it feels like hours, sitting on the hot pavement - the pain and tension eases up all at once. Lance feels the muscle stop pulling. His leg stops shaking. Lance breathes out in a rush and lays down on his back, stretched out with his leg in Keith's lap. He covers his face with both hands. Partly to block out the afternoon sun glaring down at him, and partly to just hide his face.

His breathing rattles. His face is wet.

Keith continues to gently massage his leg, easing the muscle any time it spasms.

"Lance," he says, shifting around to look at him, "Are you okay?"

Lance exhales. "I think so…. It - it still hurts."

"Okay. Can you move it?"

Lance lifts his hands away, but continues shading his eyes as he glances down. He turns his ankle, wiggles his toes inside his shoe. It's when he starts to lift his leg and bend his knee that he feels it tugging, pinching, and he immediately relaxes again, wincing and covering his eyes, dropping his head back with a groan.

"Y-yeah…. A little."

"How bad does it hurt?"

"It's - it's not bad. Anymore. I'm okay. Just - just gimme a minute…." It's hard not to get frustrated at himself. His voice breaks a little. "Damnit…"

"Lance. It's gonna be okay. It was probably the long bike ride," Keith says, "Was it hurting this morning?"

"Not… not really…."

"But kind of?"

Lance hums, reluctant to say. If he had mentioned it, or taken his medicine, they wouldn't have come to the beach, and he hasn't been back here in so long...

He should have known better.

It did this yesterday when he was jogging. It went numb last night, too. He thought it was just a one time thing because he'd been pushing so hard. Maybe something inside the prosthetic is malfunctioning. It is new. Pidge and Hunk made a couple of adjustments before he left to make sure it was working comfortably, and it wasn't pinching or pulling anything then...

Lance doesn't know what he did wrong.

He settles for groaning again, "Sorry. I messed this whole thing up. I just wanted to go out with you… spend some time together. Do something fun…."

"It's not your fault, Lance," Keith says gently, moving Lance's leg out of his lap so he can stand up, dusting off his dark jeans, "You didn't ruin anything. C'mon. It's too hot to sit here in the sun like this."

Lance sighs and pushes himself up on his hands, wincing. He looks at his leg, stretched out in front of him, and curls his knee experimentally. His leg is throbbing, his pants a little tight around the base of his prosthetic. The fabric stretches, so it isn't uncomfortable, but the nerves are burning hot-cold, a little numb when he gingerly runs his hand down his thigh, and it might feel better to just take them off. The phantom pain throughout the rest of his leg is… off-putting….. but it's tolerable.

He's just not sure if he can -

Keith kneels beside him and scoops Lance into his arms before Lance can even finish the thought. He struggles for all of one second, a half-formed protest falling from his lips,

"Don't - you don't have to -"

"We came to see the beach, Lance," Keith says. Those bright violet eyes flash determinedly, searing into Lance's blue, and he quiets at once, folding both hands over his mouth. "So we're going to see the beach, even if I have to carry you down there. You'd carry me, right?"

"Right. I just - don't want you to fall," Lance manages, lifting his hands. He feels his face heating up, and slowly puts his arms around Keith's shoulders. They've carried each other through worse things. "The path is steep."

Keith's only answer is a nod of acknowledgement as he crosses the parking lot.

There are some bushes and trees cluttering the cliff edge just behind the breaker, swaying in the heavy breeze. The trail leading down to the beach is a dirt path worn down to the rocks after years of traveling feet. There's a small post with advisories about weather, and swimming alone, and watching your step, all tacked into the wood. It's the same collection of signs that was there when Lance was a kid, salt streaking the paint down, and he smiles when he sees it.

The trail has a thick rope strung between posts on one side to act as a guardrail. Keith picks his way down the treacherous path, making sure he has his footing each time he steps down, moving fluidly so he doesn't jostle Lance or hurt his leg.

Lance, for his part, can't stay quiet.

He remembers tumbling down this path at full speed when he was little. Remembers that, "Marco tripped on that big rock there and rolled the rest of the way down. He was all bloody and crying because he couldn't get in the water until Dad hit him with some of those waterproof bandaids. And Rachel broke the rope climbing on it when it was rotten. We dragged that thing around all afternoon until the tide pulled it away from one of us. One time, Veronica was sunbathing and she fell asleep, so we wrote on her back with sunscreen. She was so mad."

Keith snorts in amusement, letting Lance fill his ear with every small thought that comes to mind.

The beach itself is smaller than Lance remembers, the rocks dotting the surf all shaped differently by the waves washing over them. The western side of the bay is already starting to shade as the sun dips overhead, and a small pavilion housing a picnic table and a vending machine has gone up near the cliffside among a crowd of rustling palms and bright heliconias.

Lance points to it, "Oh, nice! That's new!"

Keith heads straight for it.

Their combined weight sinking his feet deeper into the soft, white sand slows Keith down quite a bit, and Lance is trying not to laugh at the look of concentration and annoyance on his face by the time Keith is stepping up onto the smooth wooden floor of the pavilion.

Lance can't resist poking that furrow between Keith's eyebrows and saying, "You're gonna have to shake the sand outta your boots, genius."

"Small price to pay," Keith says.

He drops a kiss to Lance's cheek and then sets him down on the bench. Lance locks his arms around Keith's neck to hold him in place so he can kiss him properly, and Keith chuckles against his lips, his hands braced on the table at Lance's back. He sits beside Lance on the bench and unlaces his boots, pulling them off along with his socks, and his jacket. Lance does the same, stowing his sneakers underneath the bench, even though he knows the chances of getting himself out in the ocean, or even the sand, are non-existent at this point.

He can probably walk on the even floor of the pavilion, but he does not trust his leg in the sand. He'll just end up falling and hurting himself even more.

Lance sighs, rubbing his thigh.

Keith nudges him with his elbow and nods toward the vending machine.

"Think our cards will work in that?"

Lance turns around to look at it. The machine looks brand new, crisp images coloring the touch screen front, a little door that delivers your item without letting gravity do all of the work. It's got some snacks as well as beverages, and it looks like there's a slot for cards as well as cash.

"I don't see why it wouldn't. Are you hungry again?"

"Just need a drink. And I don't want to go all the way back for our bag just yet if I don't have to. I have your medicine in my pocket, so -"

"I don't need it, Keith."

"Lance - "

"Can I at least enjoy the beach for a while first? I don't - I don't need it right now, Keith. I'm okay right now. I'm just gonna sit. I promise."

Aside from his heart suddenly kicking up at the thought of missing this, and a bit of lingering pain, Lance is telling the truth. It's not more than he can stand. If he sits for a while and stays off his leg, the swelling and the pain should both come down without having to take his medicine.

Keith hums, frowning at him seriously while he thinks about it.

"That was the entire reason we came," Lance reminds him, "To see the beach."

"...Are you sure your okay?" Keith asks.

He's worried. Quiet.

"I'm okay for now," Lance says, "I'll take it later if it doesn't get better. Okay?"

"...Okay."

"Okay. I can sleep it off right here, if I have to. You'll keep me safe, right?" Lance asks, grinning as Keith rolls his eyes and stands up without answering, going over to poke at the vending machine screen, "Hey, if it works will you get something for my -?"

"I was going to."

Keith comes back with two bottles of water and hands one to Lance as he sits beside him. The bottle is cold to the touch, almost icy, and it makes a world of difference to his swollen, hurting leg when Lance presses it against his thigh. He sighs with relief, leaning into Keith's shoulder. He rolls it back and forth along the base of his prosthetic, trying to evenly distribute the small comfort.

Keith uncaps the other bottle, and they pass it back and forth.

It's well past the high heat of the day, at least, so it's not so bad sitting in the warm shade. The breeze coming in off the ocean is a constant thing, kicking up hard in strong gusts and tapering off into gentle wisps that just barely tug at their hair and clothes. Lance breathes in the tangy salt air, smiling wide. He missed the sound of the ocean more than anything else - the constant rush and roar, the sense of movement, that is present even in the quietest moments like this one.

Lance looks at Keith, catching his profile while Keith is staring out across the beach, watching the cresting waves and the circling gulls. He has already memorized every line of Keith's features - has each one etched into his fingertips - the line of Keith's jaw, his cheekbones, his brow, the slope of his nose. Lance never gets enough of just looking at him. The sun highlights Keith's thick, black hair in hues of purple. Even under the roof of the pavilion, where the shade is growing darker as the sun inches west, Lance can see the hint of deep violet. He reaches out to comb it back from Keith's face.

The abrupt contact startles Keith, who was lost in thought, and Lance chuckles.

"Thank you for coming with me, Keith," he says, absently combing his hand through Keith's hair while the wind continues to play with it, "I didn't want to ask… but It really means a lot."

"I'm happy to be here, Lance," Keith says, "I'd do anything you asked me to."

That low timber in his voice, the devotion that pours suddenly through their bond, makes Lance's heart thud. Keith goes right on looking at him with that bright, earnest gaze. And then he gets self-conscious all of a sudden. He glances away, his brow knotting up.

He looks back at Lance.

"Speaking of asking…. Close your eyes."

Lance blinks at him, pulls his hand back.

"Okay," he says, curious.

Keith flashes him a tiny smile, squeezing Lance's knee as he stands. Lance watches him jog across the pavilion and drop off into the sparse grass at the edge of the sand. After he rummages around in the bushes a bit, almost disappearing entirely into the foliage, there's a sharp snap, and Keith returns, jogging back across the sand to stand in front of Lance. He's holding a long stick, and he frowns, that cute little pout that makes Lance grin, when he sees that Lance is still looking.

"I said close your eyes!"

"Right, right, sorry!"

Lance covers his eyes with his hands and ducks his head down. It's hard to resist the temptation to peak. He hears Keith sifting through the sand, his footsteps clumsy, dragging something.

Probably the stick?

Lance has a sudden jolting thought.

"Is this the surprise? The real surprise? Was the beach just a decoy to - ?"

"Lance."

He almost looks up.

"Stop guessing. I'm almost done. And don't laugh at how it looks, I'm bad at drawing."

"Aw, babe, I think your drawings are cute! They've got… personality."

"Shut up," Keith laughs.

Lance's knee bounces impatiently. He winces, bouncing the other knee instead.

"Okay," Keith says, "You can look."

Lance lifts his hands away from his eyes and looks up.

The image lovingly drawn into the sand makes Lance want to laugh the second he sees it. He holds it in, humming and deliberately turning his head as if he can't make it out. He places his hands on the seat of the bench and leans to the side to try and see if from a different angle. Standing beside it, Keith laughs out loud, leaning back, "Shut up! It's not that bad."

That sound sends a thrill all through Lance.

He laughs, straightening up.

"You drew me…. Flowers?" he asks, stressing the uncertainty in the question to tease him. It's obviously a cluster of flowers - basic daisies. Super easy for any five year old to draw. They've definitely got some personality, though. Sharp angles and rough lines and a whole lot of heart, just like Keith. Lance loves them. "Because… you forgot to get me some last night for Date Night?"

Keith shrugs, swats the outside of his leg with the stick and looks down, embarrassed. He takes a deep breath, says, "I uh. I also wanted to give you something else…"

Keith has his hand in his pocket as he steps forward. Lance throws out his hands, "Wait! Hang on, stay there for a sec!" and Keith stops, surprised. Lance picks his jacket up from where it's piled on the bench beside him and digs through the pockets. "I can't take them home with me so I want a photo!"

"Do I have to be in it?" Keith asks, amused but reluctant.

"Yes!" Lance says emphatically, "Obviously, Keith!"

He levels his red comm and snaps a couple of them quickly. Keith standing in the sand and sunlight, his hair getting tossed about, bright red t-shirt showing a bit of stomach as it whips up around him, black jeans hugging his legs; standing beside the crudest, sweetest drawing of flowers Lance has ever seen in his life. He's tempted to save it as his front screen, but that prime real estate is currently being occupied by a picture of the two of them sitting side-by-side on his parents' back porch that Nadia took when they weren't paying attention.

Folding the comm between his hands in his lap, Lance grins up again at Keith.

"Okay. Sorry. What were you saying?"

Keith shakes his head, smiling, and steps forward again. He pulls a silver chain from his pocket. He fumbles with it, head down as he steps onto the platform. He stops in front of Lance. He fidgets with that chain until he gets the clasp undone, and then he pulls it through his closed hand, tucking it away into his pocket. Obviously, the chain itself is unimportant.

Lance doesn't know why his own heart is pounding so hard around his gentle curiosity. Maybe it's mirroring Keith's.

His inexplicable nervousness.

His shaking hands.

"I wanted… to give you this."

Slowly, Keith uncurls his fist.

Sitting in his open palm are two perfect, matching rings - thick, glossy gemstone made to look like fresh-cut wood. One black with curls of red wrapped around the band, one red with swirls of black, both with blue and purple threaded through them in the thinnest shining lines.

Lance recognizes the patterns at once despite the vastly different shape: their tokens. The small carved pendants they received from the Yekserietians along with the rest of the team, after the rescue mission that caused Lance to lose his leg. Because the stone naturally absorbs small amounts of quintessence, those people believe that you carry a small piece of another person's soul with you when you bond with them, when you carry one of these tokens - the same way you carry a person with you in your heart.

As Paladins, it's a heavy burden to carry, and one they do so with unmatched pride.

But Lance has always joked that he and Keith have saved each other so many times that they're probably carrying more than half of each others souls in their respective tokens.

It's why Lance was so upset when he thought he lost his.

He never once noticed Keith's was missing, too.

Keith made these? For them?

"You -?"

The question fades in Lance's throat when Keith reaches out and gently takes his hand, and sinks down onto one knee in front of him. He finally puts a name to that look in Keith's violet-grey eyes. As if he hasn't known what it was all along, from the very first moment - as if he hasn't felt it surging through him since Keith first held his hand like this, as if it was the most precious thing in the universe - that sensation that seeps up inside the cage of his ribs and fills him to the brim.

It's all the love Keith has for him, pushing out, vulnerable and honest when he asks.

"Lance. Will you marry me?"

He holds out Lance's ring, the red one. The other is tucked into his palm.

Lance stares at it, barely comprehending it.

Keith goes on, a little nervously, "I could have picked a better time, I guess. I know your leg is hurting, and this isn't the most romantic place, and I forgot to bring you real flowers. But I didn't want to try and wait for the perfect moment or something, I… I want to spend every moment with you, Lance, even the ones that aren't so perfect. For the rest of my life, or as long as you'll let me."

Lance feels himself shaking.

His voice wobbles, "You… you wanna get married…?"

"Yeah," Keith says, a soft laugh.

Lance shakes his head.

Jesus, he can't breathe.

"You - you want to -?"

"Yeah.  ...Lance. If you don't, you don't have to -"

Lance shakes his head again.

That's not what he meant.

That's not what he meant at all.

Lance yanks his hand back and covers his face, because, yeah, he's definitely crying. Shit. He's so - goddamn angry at himself. He's so stupid. He -

"Lance." The way Keith says his name breaks the dam Lance is trying to hold back, and he lets out a shuddering breath. "What's wrong...?"

"I didn't- " He can't even get it out, his voice is so choked and watery, "I didn't ask you -"

"You… wanted to propose first…?"

Keith is bad at guessing. The uncertainty in his tone makes that clearer than ever.

Lance shakes his head again. He looks away, wiping his eyes. Keith is still on his knee in front of him, hands carefully placed on Lance's lap. Lance doesn't look at him. Struggles through the words around his trembling hand and the overwhelming feeling in his chest.

"I didn't… ask you what you wanted…. I -"

He just assumed Keith wouldn't want to get married. He just assumed Keith wouldn't want to be physically intimate with him. He just assumed Keith wouldn't want to date him, or hold his hand, or just be with him, and that's the only thing Keith has ever wanted right from the start, and that's what Keith is saying that he wants for the rest of their lives, and Lance hasn't been listening. He's -

Keith leans up, hands cupping his face so Lance can't look away from him. There's a shock of cold against Lance's neck, and he realizes Keith slipped the rings onto his fingertips so he wouldn't lose them.

"Lance," Keith says, intense and gentle all rolled into one, "You shouldn't have to. I should be just as open and honest with you about the things that I want as you are with me. You might not tell me, but I always know. I... I shouldn't be making you feel so uncertain - especially about our future. That's why I'm asking if you want to get married, Lance. Because I want to be with you, in every way, and this is something I know you've always thought about and wanted, too - and - and I'll love you, even if you say no because you're not ready, or you just don't want to, or -"

He's getting nervous. Stumbling, rambling.

Lance throws himself down on top of Keith, who just barely keeps his balance. He leg, throbbing in protest. His arms, curling tight around Keith's shoulders. His heart, beating so hard it might actually break free. Lance buries his face in Keith's hair and breathes in, and doesn't know whether the tremor building up inside of him is tears or laughter.

Maybe it doesn't matter.

Maybe it's both.

Keith's arms close around him just as tightly, palms solid against his back, mouth skimming across the scar at the slope of his shoulder.

"Of course I want to," Lance gasps, "I love you. I love you so much, Keith."

He pulls away to grasp Keith's face this time, to curl his fingers in his hair. To kiss his cheeks, and his eager, laughing mouth, and his eyes and nose and chin and ears and any part of Keith that he can reach. He steals the I love you too right off of Keith's lips, the happy tears before they even touch Keith's face. He shifts in Keith's lap, slotting their bodies firmly together, pushing, pulling, like that distant rush of motion that thrives inside of him.

Keith finally off-balances and they both slip back, tumbling awkwardly off the short edge of the pavilion and onto the sun-warm sand.

Keith's throaty laughter fills his chest. It echoes out across the bay, and Lance's laughter chases after it.

They sit up, tangled together. Keith holds Lance's hand in his as he slides the engagement ring onto Lance's finger. The red stone flashes in the sunlight, those cool colors popping in sharp ripples along the surface.

It fits perfectly.

Lance stares down at it and grins, his heart pounding away, and then he hits Keith with that same sun-bright look that he knows makes Keith's knees go weak every single time. He knows because he feels that same shiver in his stomach when Keith smiles at him, cheeks flushes, violet eyes glowing.

Lance takes the black ring that Keith offers him, and takes Keith's hand, and realizes that his own hands are shaking. His leg hurts from where he's sitting folded in the sand, and Lance shifts to ease the ache, suddenly nervous. Keith squeezes his fingers encouragingly, holds his own hand steady, clearly trying not to laugh at Lance's plight, and Lance relaxes.

He breathes out a quiet chuckle.

He slips the ring onto Keith's finger and doesn't let go of his hand.

"What made you think of this?" Lance asks, taking full advantage of the opportunity to admire both their rings together, fingers twined, "And how'd you get my ring size?"

"You're a sound sleeper," Keith says. He's doing the same thing that Lance is, looking at their joined hands - the contrast that is so familiar, their red and black rings that mirror each others' souls. "And… I dunno. I didn't want anything flashy, and I wanted something more personal than just regular silver bands. Hunk has been helping me look through a lot of different materials, but none of them felt right. Then you lost your token, and you were really upset about it.

"I thought about giving you mine," Keith admits, "But then when I was turning over the laundry a couple of days later, I found yours. You had left it in the pocket of one of my jackets. And… I dunno. I thought you'd like soulmate rings."

That dark blush coloring his cheeks when Keith smiles at him makes Lance blush from head to toe in response, smiling just as wide. He actually doesn't think he's stopped smiling, even for a second.

His heart is beating so hard.

"Sorry I didn't tell you I found it," Keith says quietly.

"It's fine, Keith. I - I love it. I love you," Lance says, tugging Keith forward by the hand, "Do you even understand how much I love you?"

He wants to kiss that smile right off of Keith's face and sees no reason to deny either of them the impulse. He has to do something. Anything. How could Keith not understand? Lance loves him so much, his body can't even contain it all. It pours out of him in waves and waves. It bleeds over into everything he touches, into everything he does, into every single breath that he takes.

Keith chuckles, "I've got a pretty good idea," and he meets Lance halfway.

And that's the best part, isn't it?

That they meet each other halfway.

----

"You two are a real pair, aren't you?"

Keith starts upright at the sound of Veronica's voice.

She's practically standing right over the top of them, hands on her hips as she regards them with some twist of amusement and disapproval, and Keith wonders how he didn't even hear her coming. He didn't intend to fall asleep. On the beach. With Lance. But here he is, rubbing the grit from his heavy eyes and struggling to take in the change to his surroundings.

The sun probably set a couple of hours ago. Keith is surprised by how cool it is compared to the thick, damp heat of the day. Except for the lonesome glow of the vending machine behind them casting light flat across the beach, no light pollution reaches this place. The stars are out full tilt above them, mirrored in the quiet ocean reaching out toward the far horizon. To his right, Keith can see the curve of flickering lights of Varadero from here, reaching toward that same point.

Lance is still curled up and asleep on the blanket beside him, one arm thrown across the face, the other outstretched toward Keith.

Keith puts a hand on his shoulder to shake him awake and squints up at Veronica.

She smiles at him, tilts her head.

"Buenas noches, Keith."

"Hey." Keith clears his throat. "Veronica. How'd you - what're you doing out here…?"

He looks around again.

She's the only other person on the beach.

Veronica nods toward the high cliffs behind them and Keith turns to look. It's hard to tell over the waves, but he thinks he hears a car idling in the parking lot…

"Agent Laurel used the GPS in the phones the Garrison gave you to find out where you were," Veronica says, in that smiling, precise voice of hers, "You've been MIA almost 24 hours. They were talking about detaining you on the way here if you can't abide by the restrictions they gave you. Running off alone is a big violation. I came along to smooth things over."

Keith groans and closes his eyes again, flopping back down onto the blanket.

Lance has barely stirred.

He took his pain medicine, so it's no surprise.

Keith throws his arms up in frustration, keeps his voice low anyway, "We were going to come back! We just lost track of time."

"It doesn't matter what you were going to do," Veronica says, "You didn't tell anyone what your plans were, and you didn't get them cleared with anyone before you executed them." Her exasperation is obvious now. In her posture, in her tone, in the gesture she makes. "You know how strict the Galaxy Garrison is about keeping alien contact to a minimum, Keith. Why would you think you could just pop in and do whatever you want when you got here?"

"Because we're from Earth?"

"Yes, but you live in space. You've lived in space for almost ten years, Keith, you're both considered aliens now and potential threats to the safety of the community. The only reason the Garrison cleared such a long visit and allowed you to stay with our parents instead of in a government facility is because you agreed to a security detail, and routine check-ins, and to attend the conference to discuss the Intergalactic Peace Movement and the benefits of joining with the Coalition."

Keith groans again, covering his face.

He doesn't want to talk about all the stupid politics right now.

Veronica goes on, "I know you're not used to having to answer to someone else. But here you have superiors. And they all have Earth's best interests in mind. You need to at least pretend that you do, too."

"I don't," Keith says flatly. It's about time he admitted it to someone. It might as well be Veronica. He has never missed Earth. Anything he ever cared about that was here is long gone, and the Garrison did very little to inspire his confidence in his formative years as a cadet. He doesn't miss the rigidity, or being expected to blindly follow orders. He doesn't miss Earth. "I just wanted Lance to be able to spend some time with his family. That's the only reason I agreed -"

"You don't think Lance would benefit from those things, too?" Veronica asks, cutting across him, "Being able to visit more often, in person? Not having to sneak to make calls through hidden channels so we know he's still alive? You get to be with him every day, Keith. Some of us miss that."

Keith can't say anything to that.

Veronica folds her arms and looks away to compose herself.

Lance goes right on sleeping, his even breathing almost in sync with the lulling sound of the ocean. Keith turns his head to look at him. Lance has his head cradled under his own arm, so Keith can't see his face from this angle. He knows what Lance looks like - every scar, every freckle is so deeply ingrained into his own skin that if Lance's hand so much as reached for his in the dark, Keith would know him instantly.

He can feel their hearts beating in tandem.

He can touch the thread of Lance's emotions.

They are twined so intimately together that Keith doesn't think he could bear even existing without Lance. He could. But he doesn't want to. And he is doing that thing again, where he is being unconsciously selfish, where he becomes so focused on the one thing directly in front of him that he fails to see the bigger picture. He is not the only one who loves Lance. He is not the only one who misses the sound of his voice, and his dumb sense of humor, and the brightness that he brings to a room just by being in it.

That ring glints off Lance's finger, resting at the crown of his head and catching the artificial light thrown across the beach. Keith can see every detail in the grain.

He wonders if Veronica even noticed it.

"I asked him to marry me…" Keith says softly.

Veronica's bare feet shift in the sand as she looks at them again. Keith turns his head and goes right on looking up at the sky, at the thousand points of light staring back at him from distant galaxies, entire systems that he knows better than his own.

Veronica's voice is quiet when it comes.

"...Is that why you brought him all the way out here? To this beach?"

"Yeah."

"Did he say yes?"

"Yeah." Keith hesitates, then says, "I asked him before if he wanted to stay and live on Earth. But I don't think he thought I was serious."

"Would you?" Veronica asks, "Stay on Earth?"

Keith doesn't even have to think about it. His answer is exactly the same as when he gave it to Lance, hours before, "I'd do anything he asked me to."

Veronica sighs softly.

Keith knows this is not going to go the way he wants it to.

"That's sweet," she says, "But you guys are still in a lot of trouble here."

----

Keith isn't in bed when Lance wakes up.

Nothing odd about that.

Only Lance doesn't remember coming back to his parents' house... or changing out of his clothes... or going to bed in the first place. And Keith normally wakes him up early for their morning jog. The sunlight coming in through the closed curtains is too bright. It's much later than Lance even likes to sleep in, and he can't even find it in him to be fussed about it as he stares blearily across the room. He slides his arm out across the empty side of the bed, distracted, and sighs.

It's cold.

Keith has been gone a while.

Lance lifts his hand with a grimace, rubbing his fingers against his palm. There's sand in the bed. Well, that's what he gets for falling asleep on the beach and - 

A flash of red glints off his finger.

Lance's eyes widen as he holds his left hand out in front of him, close to his face, belatedly noticing the engagement ring. He didn't forget. It's just a nice shock from his sleepy memory. Keith proposing, (Lance crying his face off… again), the two of them rolling in the sand together like a couple of love-struck fools (which, to be fair, they absolutely are), Lance finally letting every dumb, romantic want in his body tumble past his lips because Keith wanted to hear them.

He remembers watching the sunset together, cuddled up on that blanket that they brought from home. His leg had started hurting again, and he'd taken his medicine just like he promised to sleep it off so they could drive home later. That must be why everything after is so fuzzy, and why he still feels really bogged down. His leg throbs dully when Lance moves. He winces, but he flexes his hand, unable to stop smiling at that ring in his finger, feeling giddy.

At least, until he rolls over to stretch out his sleepy muscles, hoping that will help some of the ache he feels settling in.

It doesn't.

His leg protests with a jerk, drawing up.

Lance gasps, "Shit." He pushes his foot into the mattress, but that only sends a sharp hot pain into his thigh that pulls the muscle tight. Lance struggles to sit up, tangled in the bedsheets. He grips his thigh, digging in with his fingers, pressing with his palm, trying to do that thing that Keith does to stop the muscle or tendon or whatever it is from making him want to scream.

He's doing it wrong. Or it's just worse than before.

Lance has no idea.

It hurts, and it feels like it's never going to stop hurting.

Between all his frantic movements, though, Lance finally finds the position and pressure that hurts the least - that stops the pain from escalating, from tearing him apart - and he holds it there, breath coming in and out in short bursts, his whole body tense, curled and presses into the sheets. Slowly, the drawing in his leg relaxes. It throbs, a surge of heat that catches up in his throat, and Lance grits his teeth to keep himself quiet. He still holds that position for a while after, afraid that if he moves it will happen again, afraid to even breathe too hard.

A bead of sweat roll down his face.

He exhales slowly to calm himself down, and glances wearily toward the door.

It's closed. Hopefully no one heard him. Lance strains to listen, though, half-expecting Keith to come thundering up the stairs to see what's wrong with him. One minute passes. Then two. Then five. Lance keeps track of them on the digital clock on the dresser, counting tics while he breathes. Earth minutes are smaller. 40 tics instead of 60.

He can't believe they've already been here two movements.

It feels like no time at all has passed.

The clock says he's been looking at it for ten minutes, and his breath has only fallen shorter. He doesn't feel right. Dizzy. Shaking. His leg hurts. ...Everything kind of hurts, if he's being honest. Lance reaches up to touch his neck and winces, flinching at the bruise there and the sting of the healing bite mark.

Maybe that's why he doesn't feel right.

Keith doesn't bite him deep unless they plan to spend a lot of time together, just the two of them. It makes the Galra bond they share more… raw… for a couple of days afterwards. It makes them both anxious to be apart, and the bite really hurts if Keith isn't nearby to take care of it. It makes no sense that he wouldn't be right here with Lance when he woke up, especially after everything that happened yesterday. Especially after - 

Lance watches the clock flicker through another minute. His leg throbs, and Lance holds his breath. Then he sighs and sinks back down into the pillows, curling his arm around one of them. It's Keith's, from home, and it smells like him. Lance's leg tenses when he moves it across the bed in search of a cooler, more comfortable spot, over-sensitive even to the touch of soft bed sheets. That occasional scratching of sand doesn't help. Lance groans into the pillow.

He closes his left hand into a loose fist and runs his thumb over the smooth surface of his ring, focusing on that. His engagement ring. Keith wants to marry him. That bright feeling tries to leap in his chest, but everything else tamps it down.

He doesn't feel good. He hurts.

He's not going to feel better unless he gets up and takes something, or finds Keith.

He just… he just needs a minute.

---

A minute turns into a couple of hours.

Lance dozes off.

And he remembers…. Getting up. The room tipping sideways, hands bracing against the dresser. His leg hurting when he put his weight on it.

The next thing Lance knows, he's at the foot of the stairs of his family home with no recollection of how he got there, or why he hurts so badly, or why there are so many people around him, touching him and talking to him. Hands flutter over his arms, his legs. Familiar faces swim in and out of focus in front of him. Voices all sound muffled and far-away, like Lance is sitting in a barrel full of water, and it takes a long time for any of it to filter through.

"I don't know, someone call Keith."

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance? He fell down the stairs, Rach."

"Nadia said he only missed the bottom step, he didn't fall very far and nothing is broken. He doesn't need an ambulance if he can stay awake. Lance."

Rachel's face drifts across his vision. Her hands touch his cheek, his hair, the back of his head - quick butterfly movements that are hard to pin down. Lance latches onto what he can. Her worried hazel eyes, the shape of her voice. He blinks at her. His leg hurts. He tries to tell her that - that it hurts, that he doesn't feel right, that he misses Keith - that's why he got up.

To look for Keith.

But everything kind of swirls together and Lance isn't sure if he gets all of the words out, or if he just mumbles Keith's name, or if he just thinks that he does it and forgets to actually do it.

"Lance," Rachel says gently, "Keith had to go back to Havana. Dad is calling him now."

Lance barely even understands that.

Keith just came from Havana, didn't he? How long was he sleeping? What day is it? Was all that just a dream? Their date. The beach. This morning.

Is it morning?

Something soft rubs his forehead.

A hand.

His mom. 

"Rachel, el es cálido."

"I know he's warm, Mama."

"Keith says… There's ointment for the bite mark in one of their bags, and that Lance needs to take his medicine again. And if his leg is swollen and hasn't come down after ten minutes under a cooling back then there's an ointment for that, too. Marco, una bolsa amarilla. Go look for it."

"Diego, we should take him to the hospital. Tell Keith -"

"No. Keith says if we take Lance to the hospital or tell the agents that he has a fever, they'll think he's contagious and they'll quarantine him."

Lance almost drifts off in the silence that follows. His head nods. A warm hand pushes his hair back from his face. His leg throbs, and Lance groans softly, trying to move it. He can't keep sitting here like this. The floor isn't comfortable.

He wants to find Keith.

Rachel's hands still his movements.

"...Luis. Can you carry him to bed?"

"He's pretty heavy, Rach. I can try."

"Take him to ours, mijo, it's closer."

And that's the last thing Lance remembers.

----

This time, there is an immediate difference when Lance wakes up. Sure, he kind of feels like he's been poured over with wet cement, heavy and sore from head to toe, but the upside is his headache is gone and he can think more clearly, and his leg doesn't hurt. His leg doesn't hurt because it's not attached. Lance notices as soon as he tries to sit up and can't manage to do it right away, off balanced. It's disorienting, and he panics, yanking back the blankets.

Something small thumps off to the hardwood floor, out of sight.

The bed sheets and hand-stitched quilt slide off after it.

His prosthetic has been detached.

Lance stares at the space on the bed where his leg is supposed to be, at the base of the prosthetic poking out from underneath the hemline of his shorts. A voice in the hallway, the sound of small, hurried feet, makes him startle, "Hey hey hey hey hey! Don't panic!"

Pidge bounds through the open bedroom door as soon as Lance looks over, hands splayed in a calming gesture - as if anything about this sudden appearance is calming - catching their breath.

"It's okay," they gust out, bending over.

They pick Lance's comm up from where it fell to the floor and set it on the nightstand. They pick the blankets up next, but Lance pushes them off before Pidge can try to put them over him or anything. His heart is shaking out of his chest and his nerves are shot.

"Pidge? W-what're you doing here? Where's my leg?"

"It's on the kitchen table. Relax -"

"What for!?"

"Because it wasn't working, genius," Pidge says, flicking him in the forehead and looking thoroughly unimpressed with the theatrics, "I'm fixing it. You know you're supposed to tell people when you're having complications or any above-average pain because it's usually serious and, more often than not, it can be pretty easily remedied. Sylvio said you fell the other day when you two were jogging. You should have called me and told me right away!"

"I was going to…." Lance says lamely, rubbing his forehead and looking away.

"Yeah?" Pidge folds their arms and narrows their eyes at him. Their bedside manner leaves something to be desired. "When? Before or after you gave yourself permanent nerve damage? You know what the risks are, Lance! I don't understand why you don't seem to care."

"I do care!"

"Then act like it! You can't be so blatantly self-destructive if you're going to get married."

"How do you know we're getting married!?"

"Because you talk like this!" Pidge emphasizes each of his unconscious hand gestures, then points, "And I can see the ring he gave you, Lance!"

Lance glances down automatically, lifting his hand.

That red ring winks at him, and his heart leaps.

The diversion steals all his agitation.

Pidge probably didn't plan that, but they get props for it, anyway. Lance stares down at the engagement ring that Keith gave him and takes the time to shift through what he remembers. It feels like…. a lot has happened all at once. The fever didn't help. The past few hours are all hazy.

He really kicked his own ass here….

"I'm… Sorry for yelling, Pidge," Lance says, glancing up, around the room. His parent's bedroom. He doesn't even know how he got here. He rubs his face, feels his own forehead. Kind of sweaty, but more like his fever broke recently than because he's overheated or anything. "I'm just… feeling really confused about what's happening right now."

Pidge's irritation with him gives way just as easily.

They shrug.

"I get it. I'm sorry, too. For yelling at you."

"How'd you get here?" Lance asks.

"Please." Pidge throws a hand. "My dad invented the program the Galaxy Garrison uses to run its defense satellites. I overrode two of them to create a temporary blind spot and snuck in with Green. Keith called me. He said your leg was hurting, and he was in Havana and your family was freaking out. You had a pretty bad infection, y'know."

"An infection?! From what?" Lance asks, startled, "Keith is- Keith is in Havana?" He thought he'd fever-dreamed that, but it's true. Keith isn't here. Lance scans the room to be sure, as if Keith might manifest. He still doesn't understand, and he's feeling anxious again. "What is he in Havana for? The conference..? That was - what day is it -?"

"Look, okay. Hold on," Pidge says, "I know your attention is really jumping around here, and this is a lot to process, but let's talk about your leg first. Okay?"

"O-okay."

"Take a deep breath?"

Lance nods. He breathes in slowly, following Pidge's lead, and breathes out as they do. He feels calmer after the second one, and ready to talk after the third.

He pulls the blankets back across his lap, smoothing the fabric under his hands.

"Alright," Pidge says, "Have you been getting in the ocean?"

"Yes?"

"Even though everyone told you not to because you're still recovering from surgery, and you get tired easily, and you could drowned?" Pidge asks, going right for his throat with no hesitation, "I shouldn't have to tell you it's not like swimming in the pool, Lance."

"I know that," Lance says, a bit defensive, "I was raised in the ocean - this ocean - I know how dangerous it can be. I never got in if the waves were bad… well.  Except once. But Keith was with me, and I wasn't in very long, and I've swam a couple of times but there are literally lifeguards dotting the beach, I think I was in good hands, all things considered, and I didn't drowned. What's this got to do with my leg? Or infection, or whatever?"

"Salt water corrodes a component in the alloy used to seal your prosthesis," Pidge says. They roll their eyes, jazz their hands. "Apparently. If I had known, obviously, I would have used a different sealing. It's chemistry junk, and I know you don't care about that stuff. So, basically the seal corroded and water was getting into the prosthesis and eating away at the cords and wires that are attached to your nerves and acting as your muscles. I'm guessing you were in pretty much constant pain well before it even started malfunctioning. And didn't say anything."

They give him a pointed glare at that.

Lance fidgets, turning that ring around on his finger and rubbing the smooth stone.

"A small amount of pain every now and then is normal, Lance. More than you can comfortably handle is not, you have got to start staying something."

"I know!" Lance snaps. Pudge closes their mouth and frowns at him, and Lance sighs, ducking his face into his hand. "I-I know. Sorry. I will, Pidge. I just…. I dunno."

"It's fine…" Pidge says, deflating, "It's not fine. You need to say something, Lance. But it's hard to stay mad when I can feel how upset you are. Stupid quintessence bond… Anyway," they huff, "I cleared up your infection with a couple rounds of fast-acting antibiotics. Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah. I am. Thanks, Pidge. I… I'd feel a lot better if I knew where my leg and Keith are," Lance admits, somewhat shyly.

He reaches up to touch his neck, carefully feeling over the mark at the slope of his shoulder. It's still heavily bruised, the gentle pressure almost too much to bear, but the bite marks don't sting when he brushes over them. They must have healed some.

He also doesn't feel as anxious and depressed.

The fresh bond makes it difficult to be apart when it's the least convenient. Lance knows it's ten times worse for Keith than it is for him...

Pidge nods their head toward the door.

"Like I said, your leg is in the kitchen. We can reattach it as soon as I'm done with the repairs. That's going to suck, by the way."

"Yeah," Lance laughs, wincing.

"But it shouldn't take too long," Pidge goes on, "I was almost finished when you woke up. And, like I said, Keith is in Havana. You guys' little date-scapade caused something of a scandal, or so I'm told. The Garrison confiscated the bike, and you're not allowed to leave the house. They were considering detaining you before Veronica intervened, and Keith is kissing some serious ass to smooth the whole thing over so you guys can stay another few weeks like you planned."

They look thoughtful for a moment.

"Coming back around to that." Pidge points at him, and Lance feels his face flush at the wide grin on their face. "Were you going to get married here? You've always wanted a beach wedding, right? You're sentimental like that, and your family is all here. I'm still pissed I wasn't called immediately upon proposal, by the way. I'm sure Hunk and the others are as deeply offended as I am, but I can't wait to see the look on their faces."

"To be fair," Lance starts.

"To be fair," Pidge mimes in a posh accent.

Lance snorts, "To be fair. Some stuff happened." He gestured at his missing leg, the flat space beneath the covers, with both hands. "So we haven't exactly had a chance to tell anyone. I don't- I don't really want to without Keith. That's something we were going to do together."

"I like that you think your family isn't eavesdropping, Lance," Pidge says, smirking.

Lance's face reddens even more.

He hadn't considered that.

He raises his voice slightly, just incase, scowling toward the door, "Well they can at least pretend to be surprised when we tell them together, then….!"

Pidge chuckles. "Relax. Most of them are out of the house. Just your dad is here."

"And he will pretend to be very surprised when you announce your intentions to marry a man," Diego's voice comes from right outside the doorway, out of sight, and Lance groans, picking up one of the pillows and burying his entire face in it. Diego continues on the same indignant, bristling breath, "Who didn't even ask for your father's blessing first!"

"Dad, he's not going to ask for your blessing before he even asks me," Lance says, lifting his face out of the pillow to glare at the empty doorway, "This was kind of a surprise! I'm getting my thunder stolen all over the place here! I get ultimately out-romanced by my own boyfriend -"

"Fiancé," Pidge supplies, absolutely eating up the way Lance's face heats and he stutters.

"And - and then I don't even get to tell people the good news under my own terms!?"

Pidge is snickering behind their fist.

Lance shoots them a glare, as well, but they only smirk at him.

Diego demands, "How else will we negotiate your dowry, if he doesn't ask for my blessing?"

Pidge busts out cackling then.

"You have a dowry?"

"No! We are not doing a dowry," Lance says, spreading his hands.

That finally pulls his father around the corner, outraged.

"One of you has to have a dowry! It is a family tradition!!"

"You have a dowry," Pidge repeats gleefully.

"All of us have a dowry," Lance says, defensive but not embarrassed, "It's a family tradition! But our dowry includes Abuela Muriel's cursed blanket and no one wants to take responsibility for it! Luis and Rachel both refused it, Veronica doesn't want to get married, and Marco never will as long as that curse is hanging over his head because he's too nice to say he doesn't want it!"

"There is no curse!" Diego insists vehemently, "And I won't have this superstitious belief slandering your great Abuelita's memory! She worked on that quilt until her very last day on this earth!"

"Exactly! And that's why it's cursed! Every time we touched that blanket when we were kids, something bad happened! I lost my front teeth on that blanket!"

"You were biting your brother!"

"When we put it in the pillow fort we built in the living room that one time, lightning struck the tv and scared us all to death! It wasn't even raining!!"

"There was a power surge, that was not lightning."

"When Rachel broke her leg during soccer, that blanket was in the car."

"That was a coincidence, Lance."

"No," Lance says, "No way. I am not getting stuck with the banket and dooming my marriage before it's even like, an actual thing, Dad. No dowry. We don't need anything other than each other!"

"This is going to be a fun wedding," Pidge says, grinning so hard their face must hurt, "I can already tell."

Lance glares at them, his cheeks red.

Diego steps up to the bed beside Lance, waves his hands in a placating gesture.

"Alright, alright. We can discuss it later," he says, picking up Lance's comm from the bedside table.

Lance's mouth snaps open to keep discussing it now - he is not going to budge on this, no way - but he closes it when his dad hands him the communicator, and clasps Lance's hands between both of his. He's smiling, really wide, those deep blue eyes and the wrinkles around them pronouncing all the love he feels that quiets Lance immediately. Diego puts his arm around Lance and pulls him into a tight hug, and Lance isn't surprised, but he's not expecting it, either.

He hugs his dad back, face pressed into his shoulder.

Diego kisses the top of his head.

"I will pretend to be surprised," he insists as he pulls away. He pats Lance's hand. "Now, call your novio, mijo. He's probably worried about you."

Diego turns to Pidge.

"Little pigeon, you have work to do!"

He makes a shoeing gesture as he moves toward the door. Lance is feeling a little choked up, but he laughs at his father's antics and the look on Pidge's face. It's hard to tell if they're amused or not, but they follow Diego's lead, stepping out of the room to give Lance some privacy.

"It's just Pidge, Mr. McClain."

"A nuance, pequeña paloma."

"I am not a little pidgeon, I am a grown adult!"

Pidge pulls the door halfway closed, and their bantering carries down the hall. Lance is smiling until they're out of earshot. He's still kind of processing. He lays propped against the headboard among the pillows for a few minutes with his comm sitting in his lap, turning over the bright red ring on his finger and sorting through the whirlwind that's been the past few days.

He just keeps coming up with more questions, so he sits upright, awkward, grimacing at his missing leg, and grabs the comm from where it slides across the quilt. He hesitates, wondering if he should use the cell phone rather than the communicator - they're not supposed to have them. He definitely doesn't want to get them into anymore trouble. Lance glances at the nightstand and is relieved to see his phone is there, as well. He picks it up and selects Keith's picture out of the contacts.

It rings twice before Keith answers.

"Lance. Are you okay?"

He sounds out of breath, like he's running.

Lance tries not to be alarmed, lets out a little laugh, "Yeah, I'm okay, Keith. Are - are you? You sound like you're- "

"Nothing. Just- trying to find somewhere quiet. Sorry. I'm fine. I was in a meeting and I can't talk long. Are you sure you're alright? Your dad called me, he said you had a fever and that you fell down the stairs - I was worried - is your leg -?"

"My leg is fine," Lance says quickly, "I'm fine. I promise. I'm sorry for not saying anything sooner. I-I should have. And now everybody's worried. I was just - "

"I know. It's okay. I now this is hard on you."

"It's hard on you, too, Keith. I-I shouldn't make it harder. I -"

"Lance. As long as you're okay," Keith says, "Then it's fine. I love you."

Even with this distance separating them, those words light a fire in Lance's chest, and he's smiling before he even realizes it, blushing as he plucks at the quilt. He can hear Keith's smile, and he's not even saying anything. 

"I love you, too," Lance says, clearing his throat, "So. So what's going on? You're in Havana? Are they mad that we ditched Maria and the others and skipped our curfew like the responsible adults that we are?"

"Pretty much." Keith sounds annoyed now. Lance hears him breath in deep and let it out, an exercise to reach for his patience. "But it's okay. Everything's fine."

"Do you need me to -?"

"No, its okay. I've got this, Lance, you don't have to do anything other than focus on recovering. It's kind of my fault, anyway," he chuckles, "Shouldn't have bought the bike."

"Shouldn't have asked for a hotel room," Lance says, smiling and sinking back into the pillows. Not that either of them regret that. He glances toward the door, and can't help wondering how long he's going to be stuck in bed. "Hey, what's today? I forgot to ask Miscellaneous Know-It-All. It's…?"

"It's Sunday, Lance." He's trying not to laugh at the dumb nickname for Pidge. "About the ninth varga."

"Okay," Lance laughs, "So, I didn't miss too much." That explains why the house is empty. Everyone's at church right now. "How long are you gonna be in Havana, Keith? Should I… pack our stuff?"

"No. We can stay a couple more weeks. As long as we, y'know."

"Behave?"

"Yeah," Keith laughs.

"Man, that's gonna be hard. I dunno if we can do it."

"Unless you want to get married on some other planet, I think we should give it a shot," Keith says, "That's what you wanted, right? To get married before we left?"

"If we can," Lance says, his heart leaping at the thought. Man, he can't stop smiling. He rubs his face. "I mean. Are we gonna get in trouble for sneaking in a bunch of aliens and throwing a big party? My family is here, but I want the others to be here, too, and you -"

"I'm taking care of all that stuff now," Keith says, "I just wanted to make sure that was still the plan before I went for it. Commander Holt is in my corner, I think it'll all work out. Do you - I'm gonna be here a couple of days. Do you want to go ahead and tell everyone? And maybe start planning stuff? I know we were going to do all of it together, but -"

"We're kind of in a time crunch now," Lance finishes, "Yeah. I can tell everyone. My dad already knows, anyway. The others have probably guessed. We're not exactly subtle, Keith."

"No kidding."

"I talk with my hands anyway. And this left one's kind of got a lot to say all of a sudden."

Keith laughs out loud at that one.

Lance is grinning.

"I know I said I've thought about it a lot," he says, "But I actually have no idea how to go about planning a wedding. Especially on short notice, y'know? I mean, it doesn't have to be big or anything fancy, but there's still kind of a lot of stuff to do. We need to…. Pick out flowers. And a venue, I guess? There's gonna be too many people to just do it here at my parent's place. Well… I dunno. It's going to be something like twenty people, including the kids. We need to write our vows! And… my nieces will have to throw a battle royale to see who gets to be the flower girl."

Keith laughs again, "I bet Luna wins."

Lance doesn't think he can get any happier than this - but he has probably thought that a hundred times over the past six years, and every time Keith proves him wrong. He hopes Keith is -

"Are you as happy as I am?" Lance asks.

"I could be happier."

"Oho, wow, how could you possibly be happier?"

"If I was there with you right now."

"....Okay," Lance admits, rubbing his thumb over his ring. He feels like he's going to combust with all the euphoria and love blooming inside of him. "I kinda walked right into that one, and I can't even walk right now! We really can't do anything the easy way, huh?"

"No," Keith laughs, "Not our style."

There's another voice on the line, muffled, that Lance almost doesn't catch at all. He only realizes what it was when Keith's harsh sigh crackles the receiver.

"Listen, I gotta go, Lance. Sorry. I'll call you later, okay?"

"Okay. That's fine," Lance says, "And I'm fine, before you ask again." Keith laughs softly. "I love you."

"I love you, too, Lance."

Lowering the phone, Lance watches Keith's picture blink just before the call closes out. It's one of his favorite photos that he transferred from his comm - one that he's had for years. Keith pouting at him from across the table with his mouth full of food because he doesn't like getting his picture taken, and Lance is definitely not as subtle as he thinks he is.

Lance chuckles, setting the phone down.

It makes him think: Do they need a photographer?

No. They probably can't afford one. Lance is willing to bet his whole prosthetic leg that the Garrison canceled their cards after Keith's outlandish series of purchases.

That simplifies things, at least.

Lance just has to get back on his feet.

"Pidge…!"

----

Keith spends four long, agonizing days in Havana.

He has to apologize and kowtow for his impulsive behavior, and the restrictions he and Lance have to adhere to during the rest of their stay are even tighter than before. They're basically under house arrest unless closely accompanied by one or more agents. That's his own fault. Keith hadn't really considered how their actions the past couple of days might have been perceived as suspicious. Ditching the agents and sneaking off to a hotel. Only staying one night.

Keith is embarrassed and annoyed that he has to explain to people he doesn't know that it was just a date. That he and Lance just wanted to spend some time together.

Alone.

He has no explanation for the bike, other than pettiness. He doesn't say that. But asserting that he wanted a more self-reliant mode of transportation still gets their cards revoked almost at once, which isn't a big surprise. Keith gets a long, boring lecture about misusing resources - as if he doesn't organize relief efforts for entire planets, as if he hasn't rebuilt people's homes with his own two hands - and he nods along and doesn't argue. They can't exactly punish him if he doesn't. The worst thing they can do is send him and Lance both back into space.

But that could jeopardize any future attempts to get Earth to finally join the Coalition, and no matter how tedious and aggravating Keith finds this whole experience - Earth is still home.

It's still a place the others love, where their families are.

Keith isn't the best person for this job.

So he says as much.

Hunk is more passionate than he is, Pidge has more communal ties, Allura is better at moving people with her words, and Lance knows how to bring them together in a way that holds firm.

This should be a team effort, not something Keith has to do alone. (And if he has an ulterior motive for wanting to get all of his family together on Earth, even for just a handful of days - that's not any of the Garrison's business.)

His days in Havana are spent coordinating communications between the Galaxy Garrison and Coalition Leaders, scheduling meetings, getting clearance for the right people, and shaking hands, and memorizing names and faces of humans that are - weirdly enough - kind of hard for him to tell apart. He's used to dealing with aliens. Not humans. And while some aliens are bipedal or have a humanoid shape, ones that are almost indistinguishable from Earthlings (like Alteans) are few and far between.

If it weren't for his heightened sense of smell, Keith probably wouldn't know who was who.

It's a wild revelation that he doesn't have time to unpack.

Every date is set, and every compromise is finalized, and Keith is practically running to the parking bay with his bag the second his superiors say they have everything they need for now. The two hour drive to Varadero is the longest two hours of Keith's life. He has talked to Lance every day, but that does very little to relieve the anxiousness simmering under his skin. If he had known that the Garrison was going to be stupid about everything, he wouldn't have bitten Lance so hard when they were getting frisky.

Being apart from him has been horrible.

His first day in Havana, Keith couldn't even sit through his debriefing. He almost fainted - dizzy and nervous because he wasn't with Lance - confused by the painful weight in his chest and the way his heart beat out of rhythm. It helped to learn that Lance's leg hurting was part of the cause, but Keith has done nothing but spend his spare hours worrying, even though he knows that Lance is fine.

Keith still has more pent-up energy than he knows what to do with. He's still at the tail end of his cycle where his hormones are balancing and his instincts tend swallow the logic part of his brain.

Having to sit in the backseat of the SUV does not help.

Keith bounces his knee. He cracks his knuckles. He glances down at his hand, touching the black ring on his finger. That doesn't calm all of his nerves at once, but Keith is smiling and taking a deep breath and turning the ring around and around, feeling the cool stone under his thumb as he lifts his head to look out the window again. He recognizes the community park, the line of smaller shops flanking it, the first houses lining the block that leads into Lance's family's neighborhood.

Keith perks up in the seat, his heart jumping.

He punches that back of the seat in front of him, and Agent Morrow starts.

"What -?" she asks, turning.

"Pull over," Keith says.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just let me out."

"Mr. Kogane, we're taking you directly to the McClain's."

"That's fine, pull over, it'll only take me a second."

Agent Morrow sighs through her nose, frowning at him over her shoulder while she considers it. Keith grips the seat and waits. He knows he's probably pushing his luck.

It's not a big deal or anything - he just wants -

The vehicle decelerates, and Agent Torello pulls over without saying a word.

"Thanks," Keith says.

He snaps open the door before either of them can change their mind, closing it on Agent Morrow's exasperated, "David." The air is heavy and humid today. The sun is out in full overhead, the sky a pale blue that fades into a colorless haze in every direction.

Keith jogs back down the street and hops the low brick wall into someone's yard.

It's rude not to ask, so he knocks on the door.

A dog bark answers him first, and then a human. When Keith explains what he wants, in breathless Spanish, the elderly woman is more than happy to oblige. She keeps her pruning scissors and her sunhat right inside the door, and leads him back out into the yard with a tiny dog (Keith knows it's supposed to be a dog, but it looks more like a blanket with legs) bouncing at her heels.

Having to go at someone else's pace, is certainly a change. Keith gets swept up in the process. He is used to pulling them up by the roots, breaking the stems in his haste and his bare hands.

The woman cuts every stalk herself.

She touches each of the rare blooms and talks to Keith about them as she picks out the best ones - an even color, larger petals, healthy-looking leaves. She hands them to Keith as he kneels beside her in the grass, and he has an armful by the time they're done.

"They will wilt in this heat," she warns him, dusting off the knees of her dress.

Keith thanks her again, wishing he could give her something in return. He is so excited to get back to Lance that he forgets all about the SUV. He hops the fence and takes off running down the street. Agent Morrow blows the horn at him and makes him jump. Keith slinks back, shifting the burden in his arms as he gets back into the car. Having to ride two more blocks when he could have just walked - when he could have just ran - is annoying.

The car has barely stopped in its usual place across the street before Keith is launching out of it.

He doesn't really mean to. He takes a deep breath, and he opens the door, and he is leaping up the porch steps before he even realizes it. He doesn't have to ask where Lance is. His body knows. Magnetized. Pulled by a red thread. Lance is a beacon shining through a sea of other people, and it's dizzying. Keith doesn't even remember running through the house. He hits the doorway, and Lance's scent hits his nose, the bond between them blooming with their sudden proximity, and the next thing Keith knows he is crashing into Lance in the bright and sunny kitchen of the McClain's family home.

The impact almost knocks Keith breathless.

Then again, that's probably just the way Lance laughs, a deep chuckle right in Keith's ear, "Hey."

Lance's hands find his arms, his shoulders. They close around him, and Keith squeezes Lance back with everything that he has, face buried in his neck.

"Hey," Keith murmurs, "I missed you."

"I missed you, too, babe." Lance laughs again, "What's tickling me?"

He reaches his over his own shoulder, swatting at whatever is touching the back of his head. He hesitates when he actually hits something. Reluctant to seperate, but embarrassed by his overzealousness, Keith pulls back, mumbling, "Oh. Uh. I - I got you these - "

They're orchids.

Rich blue orchids, with white tips and shades of violet deep in the center.

Lance's blue eyes widen when he sees them. His lips part, forming an 'o', and the first instinct saturating Keith's mind is to lean in and kiss his open mouth. He doesn't get the chance to. Lance is taking the flowers from him, his fingers grazing over the back of Keith's hands, petal soft, and he lifts the bouquet closer to look at them. They're held together with Keith's hair tie. He didn't have anything else.

"Keith, these are beautiful," Lance says, "Where the heck did you find blue ones?"

"Uh. Some old lady down the street. She had a garden full of them - "

Lance's shock intensifies.

His head snaps up as he lowers the flowers.

"You sweet-talked Señora Montblanc out of her prize-winning blue orchids for me!?"

"I… guess?"

Lance's wide smile warms Keith up from the inside out, chases away any and all uncertainty. He didn't know the flowers were special.

They just made him think of Lance.

Setting the bouquet on the kitchen counter behind him, Lance grabs Keith's face and pulls him in again. Keith lets out a soft, stumbling laugh. It gets stifled against Lance's lips, revived in his chest, because Lance is laughing, too. Kissing because he wants to, because he can. Across Keith's face, coming back to his mouth. Keith grasps at any part of Lance that he can reach, backing him up against the counter when he moves half a step closer.

He means to ask about the bite mark.

He means to ask about Lance's leg.

But a part of him doesn't have to. Lance doesn't clutch at him for support, doesn't shy away when Keith grabs his hips, or when he reaches up to touch his neck and feels the mark. He only gasps into Keith's mouth when the small of his back bumps the counter and Keith's hips press into his, and it is not a gasp of pain. It's a throaty laugh. Teeth grazing his lip. A hand tugging at his hair.

 Someone clearing their throat right behind them.

Lance shrieks.

Keith almost jumps out of his skin.

That heat is still pumping, settling low in his stomach.

Realizing Lance's mother, and both of his sisters, and Marco, are all standing in the kitchen, clustered around the small table, which is piled with papers and books and an open laptop - douses that feeling immediately. Keith drops his hands to his sides and steps back from Lance, his face so hot he could melt iron, still panting for breath. He stares at the floor, mortified by the good-natured laughter that breaks out.

"Oh, honey, we didn't mean to embarrass you!"

"It's okay, we all get excited when we see Lance!"

"Well, not that excited."

Lance's hand curls around Keith's, coaxing it open so he can lace their fingers together. Keith covers his face with his other hand. He really wishes he could sink into the floor right now, and Lance's sympathetic chuckling is probably the only thing that stops Keith from dematerializing on the spot.

"It's okay, Keith," Lance laughs gently pressing his face into Keith's hair, "They're just teasing you. Sorry, I should have said something. We were going over wedding stuff!"

His voice brightens, his hand squeezing around Keith's.

Keith looks up at that.

He catches Lance's smile, his infectious, giddy energy, and hopes he radiates all of that back. He didn't think he would be this happy - this excited - about getting married.

It's only because it's Lance.

"Yeah?" Keith asks.

"Yeah," Lance says, pulling him over to the table.

Keith still can't bring himself to really make eye contact with anyone else in the room. Veronica takes pity on him and gives Rachel and Marco a shove as she gets to her feet.

"Come on," she says, "Lets give the fiancés some privacy."

"Mom," Lance says as they're all shuffling out, "I need a - "

"A vase," his mother says, "I'll get one, mijo."

"Gracias."

"Did you find a venue?" Keith asks.

He gets pushed down into the nearest newly-vacated seat, which happens to be in front of the laptop. Lance follows him down, sitting on his lap.

"Marco found one for us, yeah, and it's perfect!"

Keith puts his arm around Lance's waist to steady him, self-consciously glancing toward the door. Lance reaches for the laptop, and hesitates.

"Ah. Sorry. Do you want me to -?"

"No." He doesn't want Lance to get up, and tightens his arms around him. "You're fine."

Lance gives him a small smile and slides the laptop closer. He pulls the venue he was talking about up on the web browser, but then picks up a notebook, instead, and flips through the pages. Keith experiences some minor whiplash, watching that. He can't even remember the last time he saw a piece of paper. He recognizes Lance's loopy handwriting, though. A list of names and separate columns.

"Also," Lance says, "I know we went over the guest list already - basically, y'know. My family. And our space family. I just didn't remember how many people you got clearance for, and I know you told me - "

"Ten," Keith says.

He made sure to cover at least Pidge and the others.

"Okay. See, I thought it was ten, but then I thought I was just being optimistic. Okay, so, counting all the kids that puts us at about thirty people." Lance scratches something onto the bottom of the notebook. By the time Keith sets his chin on Lance's shoulder to see what it is, Lance is finished, tossing the notebook aside. "We should go and look at this place, Keith. I know our budget is pretty much non-existent thanks to the bike incident, but Marco's buddy owns this bar on the beach that has an open dance floor and he said we could use it any time!"

"We need to pick a date. We've only got two more weeks."

"I know. I want to look at this place first. And we still need to figure out what we're gonna wear, and write our vows, and - "

"Oh. I already wrote mine."

Lance is poking at the laptop again, and he stops, twists around. He almost nails Keith in the face with his elbow and throws himself off into the floor. His cheeks are warm, expression distressed. Keith is still grinning, feet braced on the floor, arms circling Lance's waist to keep him in place.

"Are you serious?" Lance demands, "You already wrote them?"

"Yeah," Keith chuckles.

He leans forward to bumps his face against Lance's cheek, a half-kiss.

He can't really bring himself to stop at just one.

He kisses the corner of Lance's jaw and the shell of his ear. Lance lifts his head so Keith can kiss his throat, and huffs as he curls his arms around Keith's shoulders.

"Well, you've had like way longer than me to prepare, mullet."

"You haven't thought about what you wanna say?" Keith asks, genuinely curious.

Finally, he tugs the collar of Lance's shirt aside and drops a tender kiss to the mark that's still faintly bruised, right at the juncture of Lance's neck. The punctures from Keith's teeth have healed over thanks to the ointment they packed. He still laves over it with his tongue, soothing some of the guilt settled in his gut for not being there when it must have been hurting. Lance relaxes against him, laughing.

"Nothing I haven't already said, I guess," Lance murmurs, smiling into Keith's hair, "I just - don't want it to sound stupid. I've tried to write it down a couple of times, but I...I keep rewriting it."

"It won't sounds stupid, Lance. Don't overthink it."

"I know," Lance laughs.

Keith nuzzles his neck. He can't wait to sleep with Lance tonight and get their scents properly mixed again. He hates being apart. His hand falls on Lance's thigh, and Lance jumps a bit. Keith starts to pull back, but Lance drops his hand to rest over Keith's exactly where it is.

"It doesn't hurt," he says, sitting back, "It's just - sensitive."

"Did Pidge fix you leg?" Keith asks, his brow knotting.

"Yeah. Snuck in, fixed my leg, and snuck right back out," Lance says, gesturing, grinning, "And complained the entire time. Classic Pidge."

Keith chuckles, "Right."

"I am not allowed to get anywhere near the ocean, because it's still the same alloy for now, which is the biggest tragedy of all, can I just say. But we need to focus," Lance says abruptly. He claps his hands, turns back to the laptop. He must feel the tremor of amusement that shakes through Keith, because he snaps playfully, "I know, hilarious, coming from me on a not-mission-related subject. But seriously, we've only covered like half the things we need to cover. We have the guest list. And the place. We need the date."

"Next week?"

Lance produces a tablet from underneath the mess of papers.

"A specific date." He hands Keith the tablet. "When are the others going to be here? And... I know what I want to do for our honeymoon."

Keith looks up from swiping across the calendar.

"I didn't even think about a honeymoon," he admits. It's his turn to feel kind of stupid, but he asks anyway, "This… doesn't count?"

"No!" Lance laughs loudly, turning away from the laptop again. All this shifting around is starting to make Keith's leg's go numb - but he's not about to complain. "I want an actual honeymoon, Keith! It only has to be a night or two. We can do it at the end of our visit."

"Oh. Okay, yeah." It's basically a date. Keith smiles. "What did you want - ?"

"I already made all the arrangements," Lance says, "It's a surprise."

Keith blinks at him.

"A surprise for me?"

"Yup."

Lance has one hand braced on the back of the chair, past Keith's shoulder. His blue eyes are pinched at the corners, mouth twitching as he suppresses a grin.

Keith -

"Well," Keith stumbles, "What is it?"

"I'm not telling you what it is!"

Keith scoffs at Lance's indignation, fighting back a grin of his own. Lance laughs, a bright melody that thrums into Keith's chest and makes a home there.

"Fine. I don't - "

I don't care isn't the right thing to say, Keith realizes.

But Lance crushes him in a tight hug - a firm and playful kiss - before he gets the words out, and spares him from feeling like he has to explain that he does care.

Keith cares so much that his entire soul aches with it.

How many times has he almost lost Lance, without ever having told him that? Why is it always been so hard for him to just say it? That this is the happiest Keith has ever been in his life, that he is so grateful to be loved like this and to be able to love somebody back - somebody who's going to stay, somebody who wants to stay - and it's all because of Lance.

Lance is kissing his face again, that dumb affection that Keith loves so much, that makes him feel safe and wanted and loved. Lance's hands tangle in his hair and then close around his shoulders, so full of joy and excitement and affection that he doesn't know what to do with it all, and Keith laughs, squeezing Lance as hard as he's getting.

Until his arms hurt.

Until he can't breathe.

Until he aches with the feeling of being full.

He'd be fine dying like this - captured in this calm and blissful moment, in the warm embrace of Lance's body, not knowing where he stops and Lance begins, their hearts pressed tightly and beating as one - but he would much rather live like this.

Chapter Text

"So, are you nervous?" Hunk asks.

Lance laughs. "I don't know. I'm something."

The wedding is tomorrow. He's getting married - to Keith - tomorrow - and Lance doesn't know what he's feeling. He's…. Excited. Weirdly calm. He definitely thought he would be more frazzled and anxious about putting together an entire ceremony like this within a handful of days, but things have fallen into place so perfectly it's almost suspicious.

Hunk, Pidge, and the others all arrived yesterday.

That's the only complicated thing.

The Garrison had to secure the entire ground floor of the hotel closest to the venue in order to house so many "aliens", as well as transportation to and from the place, and Lance is still annoyed about how hard it was to get them to agree to do it. They insisting that if Keith and Lance wanted their guests (their friends, their family) to be able to attend, they should have the wedding in Havana. At the Garrison facility. Where they could monitor the situation more closely.

The entire dialogue was just - 

Lance is still angry about it.

Don't get him wrong, he's glad that they're doing this on Earth. He just doesn't think he should have to cut his way through red tape just to have their wedding. On any other planet, in any other star system, this would be an intergalactically televised event that countless people would be tripping over themselves just to witness. Here? Very few people even recognize them as the Defenders of the Universe. The community of people in Varadero recognize Lance because he grew up here, because his family is here, but Voltron is a name they have heard only in passing, and most every-day people cannot even begin to grasp the horrors of a war that they mostly dodged because of the efforts of a few children.

Lance was seventeen years old when he went into space - Pidge was only fourteen - and they have all endured and overcome so much to get to where they are now. They've sacrificed their lives, the lives they could have had if they had stayed on Earth, unaware of what was out there, all for the greater good, and it has shaped them in unimaginable ways.

The end result is this:

The universe is a relatively stable place - Earth is safe - and peace continues to rise out of the ashes of what was once a dark and hopeless future for thousands of worlds.

After saving entire planets, and civilizations, and lives; after fighting so many battles that Lance can't even remember them all. Being on Earth, where people don't recognize him on sight and don't defer to him any time he speaks?

It's humbling.

It makes him feel… normal.

Like he and Keith could have a life together without all that other stuff, if that's what they wanted. Lance doesn't think either of them would be happy with that for very long, though. It's weird because Lance misses Earth. He misses his family, misses the sense of freedom that he used to feel that comes with not having any obligation to a bigger cause.

But the longer he stays?

The more he misses space.

The quiet thrill of never knowing what comes next.

The bond he shares with Red that burns through him like a supernova, that is whittled down to something soft and simmering due to the distance.

The home he has with the others, with Keith.

Sure, he has a seemingly endless workload through his role as the Right Hand of Voltron, but all that work and struggle comes with the satisfaction of knowing he's going to leave the universe in better shape than he found it. It comes with the peace of mind that his family, his planet, and hundreds of others, are safe. Lance loves his job. He loves being a Paladin. It's fulfilling in a way that nothing else can be, and he can't imagine doing anything different with his life.

That used to scare him, a little, but now all he feels is a deep sense of pride.

He misses Earth.

But he knows where he belongs.

That's why he's so damn annoyed with the Garrison's efforts to keep them all swept under the rug, even as they're making movements to join the Coalition.

It's just… it's just like Earth.

But they have finally reached a compromise, and everything is ready, and Lance can be steamed about it all he wants, but there is no point in holding onto petty annoyances when he's getting married - to Keith - tomorrow. Less that twenty-four hours from now.

"I can't breath," Lance says.

Hunk laughs. "Sit down, bud. You've been on your feet all day."

----

Keith hates waiting.

He's gotten better over the years; knows when to slow down, and breathe, and keep a level head. This is…. Different. He isn't worried about the ceremony tomorrow. Everyone has been working really hard over the past week to ensure that things go as smoothly as possible considering how quickly this thing has been thrown together, and the rehearsal this evening went well.

Awkward.

But that's partly Keith's fault.

He didn't expect to be so nervous.

He's still nervous. He gets more nervous the longer he waits, the longer he lays here, staring up at the ceiling of a strange hotel room, surrounded by smells he doesn't like, and he can't help thinking that this part might be easier if he were with Lance. So Keith rolls to pick up his comm from the bedside table and sends Lance a message.

<<this idea was dumb and I hate it

He only has to wait three seconds, staring at the screen, before Lance texts back. Five of them come in all at once, the comm buzzing erratically in Keith's hand and making him smile.

>>i knowww i thought it would be more exciting to not see each other before the wedding but it's actually awful????

>> the Worst tradition 

>>we could call it off

>>I miss u ♡

>>ily

<<that's bad luck, Lance.

Lance's reply takes a tic longer because it's a photo: Lance on his back on his parent's couch with his hand clutched dramatically over his eyes. Keith huffs out a laugh and saves the picture.

<<you're stupid

<<also I love you too

He doesn't know why sending that text has his face warming, but it does. And he can't stop smiling. Keith drops the comm screen-down on the bed and drops his face into the blanket to cool his burning cheeks. Whether this helps is debatable. It's the blanket he and Lance brought from home. It's the only thing in the room that smells right, and Keith is grateful, for the hundredth time, that Lance is so thoughtful when it comes to stuff like this. He always makes sure Keith is comfortable no matter where he is.

Keith is breathing in, curling his fingers into the soft, thick fabric and thinking of Lance, when the door to his room beeps, and clicks, and pushes open.

"Room service," Pidge announces.

"I didn't order room service," Keith says loudly into the blanket.

"Well, that's perfect because the food is not for you," Allura says. She strides over to the desk by the window and sets the large bag of take-out she's carrying down beside the unopened box of complementary cigars. "So I suppose you'll just have to endure the company as best as you can."

Keith hums, chuckling, but doesn't lift his head up.

The mattress sinks as Pidge sits on the available corner of the bed. Keith is sprawled diagonally across the middle, from one corner to the other, and he sees no reason to change his position now.

"Don't pretend you weren't lonely," Pidge says, "We can all tell you're pining for your soon-to-be husband."

"Okay, fine," Keith says, turning his head so his voice is muffled. Maybe he is pining. A little. He's nervous, and excited, and soon-to-be husband has a scattering of sparks unexpectedly shooting through his chest, out into his warm hands, where the weight of the ring on his left finger keeps drawing his focus. Keith rubs his thumb against it. "I missed you guys."

"Gross," Pidge says, smirking, "We missed you, too."

"Oh, I wish I had been sitting down for that," Allura says, bringing a milkshake and a styrofoam box with her as she moves around the bed to sit on Keith's other side. Whatever is in the box smells amazing and Keith turns onto his back, propping one foot up on the edge of the mattress. "No one will believe that you two are being sentimental at the same time."

"Don't blow our cover, Allura," Keith says, "We have reputations."

"I won't tell anyone if you don't tell Lance that I'm trying his favorite Earth food without him," Allura says.

She pops open the box, and Keith finally recognizes the smell of garlic knots. Something about seeing a space princess eat gooey cheese wrapped in butter- and- garlic- soaked bread with a plastic fork instead of her fingers, as if it's a delicacy, is pretty hilarious. Pidge snaps a pic and sends it before Keith can even think to do it himself.

Four seconds later, Keith's comm is lighting, Lance's face flashing across the screen when he flips it over. He loves that picture - Lance grinning at him in a too-big sweater and Keith's dark red jogging pants, lounging among the sofa pillows with his arms folded comfortably around his legs.

"Now look," Allura sighs, gesturing, "You've gotten us both in trouble!"

Keith is laughing as he answers the calls.

Lance is already hollering,

"With a fork, Allura? Authenticity is half the experience! Keith, how could you let this happen!?"

"Pidge took me to one of those convenient stores," Allura says, unbothered as she works the knots apart into stabbable pieces with the fork, "And I must say, they do live up to the name. I was even able to get a milkshake there! How marvelous is that?"

"There's no way they gave you guys a card after revoking ours," Keith says as he holds the phone aloft, wondering if he's brought an unintentional shop-lifter to this planet.

"My parents gave us one," Pidge says, grinning.

"Don't change the subject!" Lance demands.

"Lance," Keith says, "We're not supposed to be talking."

"Hey, you text me, mullet!"

"Texting doesn't count."

"So hang up," Lance challenges.

Keith doesn't.

Of course.

Lance's smug silence is palpable, and the look Pidge gives Keith is almost unbearable. Keith stares back unrepentantly - is sure he hears Hunk in the background, telling Lance to get off the phone and stop teasing his fiancé.

"Where do you suppose they were keeping the cow?" Allura asks out of the blue, as she sits against the headboard and contemplates her milkshake.

Keith and Pidge both stare at her.

Pidge asks, "What cow?"

"At the convenient store," Allura elaborates, "Kaltenecker needs quite a lot of space to roam, and I didn't see a yard nearly big enough. Surely they're not keeping her indoors. It seems a bit silly to terraform an entire room when there is sunshine and grass readily available."

Over the comm, Lance breaks into tearful laughter first. Hunk bellows, "Nooooo. Oh my god, Allura!"

Pidge snorts, "Allura, you're not serious."

"About what?" she asks, frowning.

"The convenient store doesn't have their own cow, Allura," Keith says slowly, stifling his own mirth as well as Lance's and Hunk's, pressing the speaker of the comm into his chest, "They buy their milk from a distributor, who buys it from a farmer. That's where the cows are."

Allura looks between the two of them, utterly bewildered. Pidge has to look away, shoulders shaking, and Keith is really struggling.

"Are you telling me," Allura says, "That everyone doesn't have their own cow?"

Pidge loses it. Collapses to the floor straight off the edge of the bed, cackling. Keith does too. He can't help it. A short laugh busts out and he clutches the comm to his chest, covering his face with one hand. He can hear Lance's high, hysterical laughter and Hunk's yelling. Allura launches upright, cheeks heated, marks glowing hot pink.

"I thought - at least there was a family cow - "

"Allura, no!" Lance is shouting through the comm, "Cows are expensive to take care of. Not - " He's gasping for breath. Keith is curled into the blanket, holding the phone up, stomach cramping as he wheezes with laughter. "There are like, family farms that source smaller communities, but - How could we have possibly given you the impression that everyone has a cow?"

"Well, it doesn't make sense otherwise!" Allura asserts, "Economically."

It takes ten minutes to convince her that the proprietor of the convenient store does not have a cow stowed away in the back room. Pidge has to climb back up onto the bed, and they lay across Keith's back while they swipe through their comm, showing Allura the gallons of milk that you buy in-store, and farms where the milk is mass produced and shipped from. Even after all of the evidence is presented, she still seems skeptical. She sits on her knees, leaning against Keith's hip, with her milkshake clasped between her hands.

Keith has his head propped in his hand and his comm resting on the bed in front of him, just listening. Hunk and Lance are talking to each other about the catering and the cake.

About that time, Keith's door beeps, and clicks, and Coran strides in this time. He spots the three Paladins piled together on the bed and tutts.

"Ah, I thought I might find you in here," he says, trying to appear stern, "Come along, now. We've got an early start tomorrow, and you all need your rest! It's a big day!!"

"You don't really expect us to sleep, Coran," Pidge says, "Adrenaline's too high."

"Be that as it may! You'll rest better in your individual beds, where you can wind down properly." He makes a beckoning motion as he steps closer to the bed, and there's some sighing and shuffling as everyone complies. "I've just been around to check on all of our guests. You'll be happy to know that everyone is comfortable with their accommodations."

Coran already dressed in his pajamas, down to the cozy robe and slippers. Keith is not shocked that he's been walking around the hotel like this.

"I would hope so, after all the trouble the Garrison went through to secure the hotel for us," Allura says, as she gathers her garbage into the wastebasket by the bed and brushes off the loose pinks shorts she's wearing, "It's not overly lavish, but it's nice."

Keith snorts, not bothering to mask his irritation.

It was like pulling teeth to get this much.

"Grandpa there to shut us down?" Lance asks over the comm.

Coran bristles up, and Keith hides a grin behind his fist while Allura and Pidge chuckle.

"Now," Coran says sternly, "You're not supposed to see or speak to each other!"

"Relax, Coran," Keith says, "It doesn't count." He sits up, addressing Hunk and Lance, "Goodnight, guys."

"Yeah." Lance sounds breathless all of a sudden, voice giddy. Keith's face rushes with heat, heartbeat kicking up, smile curling at his lips. It's wild that just a single word from Lance has that impact on him. "Goodnight. Love you."

Pidge leans into Keith's shoulder before he has a chance to answer.

"Love you too!"

Lance chuckles and hangs up. His cheeky grin blinks across the screen. Keith drops his hand into his lap and scowls at Pidge. They move off the bed, laughing.

"Goodnight, Keith."

"Yeah, sure."

Allura takes Coran by the arm and leads him out, with Pidge right behind them. The door closes with a gentle click, but not before Keith hears Allura start in about the cow scandal; "Coran, you're not going to believe this." Keith sits on the bed, grinning, well after it's quiet. But then he notices it's quite. He glances around the room. The photos of beaches and native flora covering the cream-yellow walls, the pale curtains, the orange and brown pattern on the bedspread beneath the blanket.

Keith tosses his comm back onto the nigthstand as he gets up and crosses over to the patio door, reaching through the curtain to slide it open. It's a small bricked area with chairs and a table tucked into the corner, a low wall sectioning it off from the vast pool in the courtyard. It's dark, and the patio is barely lit with the filtered light from his room. He's not technically supposed to be out here. The pool has been closed, but only the ground floor has been secured for their stay. There are hundreds of tourists crowding all the others rooms, balconies right overhead, shadows passing across lit windows, who wouldn't know what to do if they saw an alien wandering about.

It doesn't look like any of the agents are actually stationed outside. Keith locates every exit point from where he's standing on reflex, and doesn't notice anyone. They probably didn't want to draw any suspicions.

The fresh air is nice, cool with the small breeze the trickles past.

Keith sinks down into one of the chairs, watching the underwater lights play across the crystal clear surface of the pool, bouncing soft blues and whites around the courtyard. It's calming. Makes him think of the Castle's ambiance. That's exactly what he needs.

Keith takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

Pidge was right.

There's no way he's going to be able to go back in there and sleep.

So he sits alone on the patio, watching the rippling light, breathing in the crisp scent of the nearby ocean and trying to calm his racing heart. He's getting married tomorrow. To Lance. He's still smiling about it. He doesn't hear the door open, but he does here the soft thump as it drops closed. Keith turns toward the sound, shooting upright in the chair, and then to his feet.

He would recognize that silhouette - that sweet scent thickening the crisp air - anywhere.

He huffs, "Lance, what the hell."

Lance keeps his voice low so it doesn't echo, footsteps soft on the concrete as he approaches the patio, flitting quickly between shadows.

"I thought for sure I could sneak up on you."

"You want to get stabbed?"

"Maybe," Lance says salaciously, "You offering?"

Keith laughs. "No. Maybe tomorrow."

"Ah, see," Lance says, gesturing. He comes to a stop on the other side of the low wall and Keith folds his arms, leaning against it. Lance obviously ran here. He's catching his breath, one hand propped on his hip. He gestures again, less winded, "The thing is - I'm kind of getting married tomorrow?"

"Oh, yeah?" Keith asks, trying to curb his amusement and keep from smiling. "Lucky guy."

"Right." The word is bright with Lance's laughter. "So tomorrow's not good for me."

Keith hums, "Too bad."

"You want to get in the pool with me?" Lance asks.

The question is sudden, but it's not surprising. Lance steps up to the wall to be closer to Keith. It's the only thing separating them - some dense bricks faded by the sun, worn smooth by the hundreds of hands that pass over them. Lance puts his hands on top of the wall, just above waist level. Keith carefully lays his on top of them. Lance's ring is cool under his palm.

Keith tips his head.

"Don't you think we should at least try to stay out of trouble the night before our wedding?"

Lance answers honestly, "Where's the fun in that, Keith?"

Lance has always been like this. Mischievous. Rebellious. They're a lot alike, in that respect. Always pushing and pulling each other, always challenging. It's been a steady, comfortable foundation that they both benefit from, that they've built a wonderful and strong relationship out of, and Keith loves it. He loves Lance.

"I love you."

Lance's confident smirk morphs into something far less controlled, his face blushing red in the dimness. Keith doesn't know what he was afraid of. He can't believe it was ever this.

He moves his hands off of Lance's to brace his weight, swinging his leg up over the wall. Lance, laughing, backs up out of his way, and they race across the patio tripping out of their clothes. Right on the edge, Lance shoves him in before Keith has even gotten all the way out of his pants. He hits the water sideways and barely gets a breath in around his yell of surprise. He hears Lance thunder in after him, feels the displacement of the water, the rush of skittish bubbles dancing up over his bare skin, as Lance comes down beside him. Keith kicks his legs free and reaches down to grab his pants before breaking the surface. Lance's is gasping, splashing nearby, his sharp laughter bouncing off every wall closing in the courtyard.

Keith has to comb his hair out of his face before he can even see.

The glow of the pool lights hits Lance's dark skin in sheen of white-blue, his hair sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. He turns toward Keith in the water, teeth flashing as he grins, and Keith feels like he can't get enough air. He heaves his wet pants out of the water and the sopping fabric smacks Lance in the face.

"Ugh! Keith!"

"Don't shove people in when they're not ready."

"I just got a little excited!"

"You?  A little excited?"

"I know, it's so hard to believe!"

Lance peels the clinging fabric from around his neck and tosses them toward the edge. Neither of them pay much attention to whether or not they make it there. Lance advances, moving smoothly through the clear water. Keith flounders a bit to back up. He won't be able to get away from Lance in his element and they both know it. That's what makes it so fun.

"Is your leg okay?" Keith asks, moving toward the shallow end where he can maybe get his footing.

"It's fine," Lance says. The way he moves, it seems like the truth. Keith doesn't notice any deception in their shared bond. He still waits, watching him carefully, never breaking eye contact. And Lance adds, "It was …  hurting a little earlier. I took my medicine after the rehearsal, and a really long nap."

"So your night is pretty much spoiled."

"I definitely wouldn't call it spoiled. Unless you mean over-indulged."

"Yeah," Keith laughs, "Definitely that."

Lance makes a darting motion toward him, and Keith sinks underwater to escape. His brief headway doesn't make much of a difference. Lance grabs him by the ankle and drags him back, and they break the surface together, laughing, clinging to each other like sea otters unwilling to be apart. Lance's hands slip over Keith's waist. Under water, their legs bump and brush.

Treading water is difficult enough without the distraction of Lance's mouth pressing over his, and that placating heat pooling in his stomach.

Keith would gladly drown like this.

----

It would be too much to expect all their splashing and raised voices to not draw someone's attention. Lance tries to keep quiet, but it's just impossible when Keith laughs like that. He has the cutest laugh, soft and raspy when he's trying to hold back, and loud in his throat when he really gets going.

Lance has mentioned that before, hasn't he?

About a million times?

They get chased out of the pool by a couple of disgruntled Garrison agents, and the night manager of the hotel. They're too used to being able to do whatever they want. They can't even come up with an excuse other than "because they felt like it" as they stand beside the pool, wrapped in a couple of beach towels, grinning at each other unrepentantly.

Mostly, the talking-to they get is for appearances sake - any nosey people looking down from their balconies or peeking through the curtains, who may or may not have called the front desk to complain because they thought the pool was closed to the public. The manager is assured that it won't happen again. Keith and Lance troop back across the patio to Keith's room and are banned from being outside until morning.

That's fair. More or less.

The two agents sit down at the small table to be sure they don't try anything, and Keith makes a show of locking the patio door and pulling the curtains closed, and cutting out the lights. Lance is glad he didn't actually sneak out of his house like he was planning to, and asked Agent Morrow to bring him. He stands at the foot of the bed, clutching the towel around himself to hold in what little warmth the water and air haven't sapped away, and grins.

"Guess I'm stuck here for the night," he murmurs.

"Guess you are," Keith says, stepping into his space. It's dark. There is barely enough light filtering in through the curtains, a slat of blue glowing off the wall, for Lance to see by. A shiver races up his spine, just at the dip in Keith's voice when he asks, "Think you could sleep now?"

Lance quirks an eyebrow. "You tired?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Sleep it is~"

Lance chuckles, leaning in to drop his lips against Keith's.

The kiss is brief, but it warms them both all the way through. Still clutching his own towel, Lance grabs at Keith's where it's held around his shoulders and pulls it up over his head like the hood of a jacket. The motion takes Keith by surprise. He staggers into Lance, makes a confused noise. Lance laughs and lifts his hands, scrubbing Keith's damp hair under the towel.

It's thick, and the moisture clings.

"You coulda warned me," Keith grumbles, the words ghosting over Lance's collar bones. 

"My bad. Just don't want you to go to bed with a wet head and wake up sick tomorrow. You cannot catch a cold now, Keith."

"When have I ever caught a cold, Lance?"

"I distinctly remember one time -"

"That wasn't a cold!"

"Okay, that's fair. My point still stands that we're not taking any chances here, mullet."

He shifts the towel around to a dryer portion and gives Keith's head another scrubbing, trying to be gentle so it doesn't tangle too badly. Compared to outside, because neither of them are even remotely dry, the room is actually pretty chilly. They discard their towels and their damp boxers on the floor and get dressed, Keith in a pair of fresh shorts and Lance in Keith's pajama pants and one of his t-shirts. It doesn't fit quite right across the shoulders, but it's good enough for one night.

They pull up the comforter and burrow underneath.

The silky sheets warm quickly.

Keith pulls their blanket from home around them both, and Lance is glad for the familiar fabric and the extra insulation as they cuddle up close, tucking their cold hands and toes into any warm place they can find. Lance curls his arm around Keith's waist, rubbing his hips and back. Keith nuzzles his neck. He kisses Lance's damp skin until it's flushed and warm, lazily grazing his teeth over the mark at the slope of his shoulder.

It's been sensitive since their botched bonding last week. Any time Keith even breaths near it, Lance's knees turn to jelly, and his gut swoops now at the fleeting pressure, the sting of sharp canines. His voice is heavy when he asks, to clarify, "You just wanna sleep?"

He presses closer instinctively, thighs parting as he wraps his legs around Keith's.

Keith pauses with his tongue against Lance's pulse. He kisses the place, instead, lips catching the soft fluttering underneath as Lance's heart drums.

"Yeah," Keith murmurs, "Sorry. I forgot it was... You want me to get you?"

"No," Lance chuckles, "I'm good. Just checking."

Keith pulls back enough to see his face. His eyes are so beautiful in the dark. The irises bright violet, sclera glowing yellow.

"You sure, Lance?"

"Mhm."

Keith kisses him, soft and undemanding. Lance relaxes with a sigh against his mouth, tilts his head and suppresses a giggle when Keith moves on to kiss his cheek and the side of his nose. Keith falls asleep first, mouth pressed to Lance's throat, arms loose around his middle. Lance combs his fingers through Keith's hair to work some of the tangles out and help it dry.

He hums under his breath, his foot rocking absently until he falls asleep, too.

----

Keith smooths his hand down the front of his vest, and tries to breath.

He glances down. The material is much softer than he expected. Keith has always thought of suits as kind of stiff-looking. He's never worn one before. He has plenty of nice clothes to wear to galas and diplomatic meetings, and other events, but most of them are Altean or Galran cut, or whatever style is popular on the planet they're visiting. 

This is an actual three piece suit, and it fits him perfectly. It's comfortable and doesn't pinch his movements. His black shoes are shining in the faint grey sunlight coming in through the window. The white fabric almost glows. He feels a little self conscious, and glances at the full length mirror again. With the jacket unbuttoned, the sleek black vest shows more prominently, a stark contrast against the white suit, and the resulting image is enough of a likeness to his Paladin armour than Keith's anxiety eases somewhat.

His heart is still pounding, stomach still heated and rolling.

He bit Lance last night, in his sleep.

Not hard.

He didn't even break the skin.

He was dreaming, and Lance woke him up making a sound that was half a yell, pushing Keith's face away with clumsy hands. Lance's scent was so heavy in his nose and mouth, Keith had thought he was still dreaming. He was dazed. He couldn't even open his eyes. Lance had kissed his face and pet his hair and murmured it's okay and I love you against his skin every time Keith mumbled an apology, and Keith had drifted off again before he fully realized he was awake.

There was a purple bruise over the mark this morning.

Keith is mortified.

It's been years since he lost control of himself like that. He knows it's just because their emotions are high because of the wedding, and their hormones are all fucked up because their last bond wasn't fully formed. Keith is still kicking his own ass over it.

A short knock against the door frame makes Keith turn. It's Hunk, grinning at him.

"Everybody's on their way," he says, "Lance said him and Allura are gonna greet them and make sure everybody gets seated, and that Nadia has to do your hair."

Keith's insides jump, his heart thudding hard.

"Right. Okay."

"Keith? You good?"

"Uhh."

Keith means to say Yeah, but that sound is all that comes out. Shuddering, under his breath. Hunk strides across the room to put a steadying hand on Keith's shoulder and eases him down into the nearest chair. That's great. Very helpful. Keith is about to pass out.

He's just feeling a little overwhelmed.

Him and Lance. They're about to get married. Absolutely committed to one another and no one else, and there is nothing new about that, per say. It isn't anything different from the way they always have been, for years, now - trusting and devoted and so full of love. It's just that now they're promising to be like that for the rest of their lives. And Keith is - was - is still terrified of making a promise like that. He's terrified of saying I'm never going to leave you, terrified of hearing Lance say it back, because he knows how easily and unintentionally that promise can be broken.

Keith's life can be sectioned off into three neat parts.

The first, with his dad, when he remembers being loved and cared for every single day - big hands and a loud laugh and a face scratching against his. The third, with Lance and the others, tentatively learning to accept and feel that kind of unconditional love again, even though the hurt from losing Shiro was still so new. And that turbulent era in the middle, where he was lost and confused and angry and alone, with only the slightest reprieve.

That part was the briefest, but it has carved itself down into Keith's marrow, and he is still afraid of it, even now, when he wants this so badly.

"Hey. What's goin' on, man?" Hunk asks softly, kneeling beside him.

That shaky sound again, uncertain.

Keith lifts his hand and it's shaking, too. He touches his face, and there are thick tears pooling in his eyes and sliding down his cheeks before Keith can even suck in a short breath. He chokes on his own voice.

"I dunno…."

"Okay. It's okay, Keith. Do you wanna talk to Lance?"

Keith nods because he can't speak.

Quiznak, he's crying. Why is he crying? Keith rubs his knuckles over his eye, but the tears just won't stop. They flood past his hands, spill down his cheeks. They drop from his chin and wet the knees of his slacks as he leans over his lap, sniffling and gasping and trying so hard to get a hold of himself.

He doesn't need to talk to Lance.

He shouldn't. 

They promised this morning that they wouldn't see each other before the ceremony and Keith doesn't want to ruin that. He doesn't want to ruin this. Lance is thundering into the room before Keith can take it back, with Allura, and Coran, and Pidge all right on his heels. Hunk gets to his feet, patting Keith's shoulder. Lance drops to his knees right in front of him.

His eyes are so blue and beautiful that Keith starts crying harder than ever.

He loves Lance so much.

"Keith. What's wrong, babe?" Lance asks, worried and serious and so unbelievably gentle when he pulls Keith's hands away from his face.

He cups Keith's cheek, his thumb brushing carefully over the tears making their way down in steady streams. They just make new glistening tracks under his hands. Keith holds onto Lance's wrists and closes his eyes. That quiets his aching heart some. Makes breathing easier than it was before.

"Keith." Lance's voice is barely a whisper, "Do you not want to do this?"

That kicks Keith's voice into gear, unlodges it from the tight knot it's formed at the back of his throat.

"N-no. I want - I want to - I just -" he gasps, reaching up to rub his face again. He hesitates because he's all snotty and gross, and his suit -

Lance passes him a cloth handkerchief from his breast pocket - a bright blue one, the exact color of his eyes. Keith takes it without really seeing it. He wipes his face and blows his nose, and gasps into the fabric trying to regain his breath. It smells like Lance. And Lance's big hands circle his shoulders and pull Keith down so his forehead is resting on Lance's shoulder.

Keith's mouth automatically searches for his mark, but the high collar of Lance's dress shirt is in the way. He just rubs his face there, instead, pressed into the handkerchief so he doesn't ruin Lance's suit with his blubbering, clutching Lance tightly. Lance's sweet, citrusy scent wafts through the fabric, and Keith breaths in his first deep breath.

One of Lance's hands curls into his hair, the other rubbing Keith's bowed back.

After a couple of minutes, Keith feels calmer.

He eases back.

His face is already warm from crying, but he feels that heat deepen with embarrassment. Lance's hands are cool in comparison as he brushes Keith's damp hair away from his face and rubs the back of his fingers down Keith's cheek. He's smiling, his perfect eyebrows knitted together.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Keith mumbles, hiding his face behind his own hand, wiping his eyes. He takes a shuddering breath, that handkerchief still curled in his fist. He touches the soft fabric to his face. "Sorry…."

"Don't apologize for feeling something, Keith," Lance says softly. He's so calm. Keith doesn't know how he does that. "I love you. Whatever it is, you can tell me, but if it's - if it's too much right now. If this is too much - talking about it, or - or the wedding - you don't have to. We can wait. Or…"

Keith's voice is so small when it comes out.

"I don't.... I don't want to be alone."

He's so scared of just saying it.

He doesn't want Lance to think that this isn't enough. It's more than enough. It's more than Keith would have ever asked for, and it's even more than that. That's why he's so afraid of losing it and going back to the way he was.

Lance's expression doesn't change.

"Keith," he says, "You're not alone. There's a whole room full of people who love you."

For the first time, Keith glances at the others.

He had almost forgotten they were here. And then they're all rushing him at once.

Hunk wraps his huge arms around Keith and Lance both and crushes them up in a bruising, affectionate hug. Pidge worms in between them. Allura leans over Lance to kiss the top of Keith's head, and Coran eagerly fills the space on their other side, hugging them tighter than his age should allow. Lance's laughter gusts across his face.

Allura's hand ruffles his hair.

"Do you feel that?" she asks quietly.

She means their bond. The one they all share, their quintessence melded into something tangible that drifts between them like an ocean. It connects them above and below the surface, in ways none of them could have ever anticipated. Keith feels it now, he feels it always, even if it's only at the back of his mind. It blooms with warmth. It floods his chest. It fills his eyes with deep puddles that spill out across his cheeks again, and he lets out a ragged laugh.

"We're all here for you, buddy," Hunk says, his voice thick, face pressed into the back fo Keith's neck.

Pidge squeezes their narrow arms around his chest. "You're our family. Your important to us, you know?"

"And we'll be there for you no matter what," Coran says, giving him a firm but affection pat. He looks and sounds as dangerously close to crying as Hunk is.

Lance shifts in the middle of the group hug, one arm around Pidge and the other around Keith. He presses his lips to Keith's cheek, blue eyes bright and wet.

"You're never gonna be alone ever again, Keith," Lance says. His whole chest rumbles with that certainty, and Keith feels it. He feels it down in his deepest heart, where all the fear in the world couldn't touch it.

"I know," Keith says softly, "I love you guys."

"We love you, too."

"Oh, wow, he's saying it now, huh?" Pidge laughs.

"Are you propositioning all of us?" Allura asks brightly, "On your wedding day, no less. How brusque."

"Man, I dunno," Hunk says, "I'm gonna have to think about it."

"I find myself more of a father figure, really," Coran quips.

They're all laughing after that.

Keith doesn't know what to say. He loves them. All of them. He laughs with them. He hugs them back. He kisses Lance. He has never been this happy before, and he has nothing but this, and so much more of it, to look forward to. If Keith's life is broken up into parts, into ever-shifting circumstances, into miniscule moments that mean so much -

The next part is the best part.

----

It's going to rain.

The sky is overcast, grey clouds moving languidly in the upper atmosphere, all that moisture just waiting to drop. The open dance floor of the venue has been closed off, the long glass slats of the sliding walls reflecting the brightly lit room - the birchwood floors, the chairs in neat rows on either side of the center aisle, the people talking animatedly and getting acquainted (or reacquainted) with one another - rather than the blustery morning outside.

It's a bizarre, diverse group, that's for sure.

Ten people from space. The Paladins and Coran, obviously, and plus one for each of them: Shay as Hunk's date, Matt, and Romelle and her brother Bandor, as Allura's friend and Coran's beloved apprentice respectively. The two members of the Blade of Marmora that Keith is closest to: Kolivan and Axca.

Then the Holts, Colleen and Sam, and Adam.

And every one of the McClains.

Lance's attention is caught between the two groups as he hangs back in the doorway leading into the bar.

Now that the moment is here, he's so nervous.

His hands shake apart and he folds them together again, twisting his fingers. He keeps touching his left one, jarring when he notices his ring is missing. Malcolm has it, and Keith's. He's taking the task of being ring-bearer very seriously. Lance's nine-year-old nephew stands beside him, eyes forward, chubby face set into a cool expression as he holds the small box containing the rings between his hands. Unable to keep from smiling, Lance pats his head, smoothing those unruly brown curls down before they spring back up. His nieces, Rachel's daughters, are crowded into the small space too, excited and giggling, playing with the hems of their dresses or plucking at their leggings.

They're all so cute.

It's no wonder he couldn't pick. Five flowers girls seems a little much, but they're all happy, and Lance is happy, and that's what matters.

Pidge pokes their head in, eyes landing on Lance.

"Keith's ready. Are you?"

Lance blushes, inexplicably.

"Y-yeah. We're ready." He grins at his tiny entourage, "Are you guys ready?"

There's a loud chorus of "Sí, Tío!" and some last minute fidgeting, stray petals falling out of tiny baskets. Pidge gives him a grin and a thumbs up and disappears. Lance thinks his heart is going to pound right out of his chest. It'll probably flop around on the floor for a good ten minutes before it finally runs out of steam. He takes a deep breath, runs his hands down his chest.

He fumbles with the buttons at the front of his suit.

They're already closed.

He just. Checks.

The flash of his red vest beneath the white makes this stupid smile creep over his face.

Hunk steps in next, clapping his hands at Lance's nieces. "Alright, girls, are you gonna kick this thing off for us?"

"Sí, hermano!"

"Excellent! Me encanta el entusiasmo! Remember how you all lined up yesterday, okay? That was perfect. Let's do it exactly like rehearsal. Lance," Hunk says, turning to him next as the girls shuffle past him to line up at the end of the aisle, "You ready, bud?"

Lance has to take another deep breath, hand pressed to his stomach, before he can answer.

"I'm ready."

His legs are shaking.

Hunk can barely even contain his own excited energy. It bursts out in his voice, in his big hands as they curl in front of him and pump the air, "Man, I'm so glad this is finally happening! I'm so happy for you guys!! I'm gonna try not to cry, I swear, but like. Absolutely no promises. You remember your cue, right?"

Lance nods, takes another deep breath.

"Keith's gonna come out of the door on the other side of the floor." Hunk points. Lance doesn't follow the motion. If he turns his head, he might faint. "And you guys are gonna meet at the end of the aisle and walk each other down it to where Pidge is standing. You ready?"

Lance does not miss that he asks again, and nods.

"Yeah," the word is crumbled under his nervous laughter, "I'm so ready."

"Okay."

Hunk jumps into to give him a hug, actually lifts Lance off his feet and makes him laugh for real. That's better. He needed that. He pats Hunk's back. God, what would they do without this guy?

"Thanks, buddy."

"No problem, Lance."

He gets one final squeeze before Hunk sets him on his feet, and then Hunk is darting out, grey suit flashing, and leaving Lance and Malcolm alone. Lance watches from the doorway as his nieces squabble over the order their supposed to be walking in and Hunk firmly nudges them into the right place. The talking has wound down and can barely be heard over the soft sound of music.

Picking the playlist was hard. 

Keith doesn't really listen to music, and Lance's taste varies wildly between nostalgic Earth pop to Tuskinian kerlhope. He'll listen to anything as long as it slaps, even if he can't understand the lyrics. Luckily, it was easy to find a couple of instrumental song that were soft enough to walk down the aisle to.

Maya, Mila, and Maddison trip over each other stepping forward the second the song changes.

Literally.

They go down as a single unit, three sets of kicking legs and puffy, upturned skirts and purple flower petals flying out to decorate the scene. Luna, standing behind Ariadne, covers her face to hide her embarrassment at the scattered laughter that breaks across the room. Rachel hops out of her seat and comes down the aisle to help the girls right themselves.

They're crying, knees and little faces scuffed, and they don't want to do it anymore.

Rachel shoots a look at Lance over their heads, smiles and rolls her eyes, and scoops the three of them up into her arms to tote them back to her seat, depositing one of them in David's waiting lap. Lance struggles not to laugh through the entire thing, his hand clamped over his mouth. It's going about as well as expected. The triplets are only six, but they didn't want to be left out and he couldn't tell them no.

The music is still going, and Ariadne gets beckoned down the aisle in their place.

She's seven, and she balks.

Her family is all seated on one side of the room, but the other side is full of strangers - some of them looking pretty intimidating without meaning to. She clutches her basket and darts off to the side, cutting down an empty row of chairs and going the longest way possible to get to Lance's mother, who is sitting in the front row. Maria laughs softly and pats her granddaughter's head.

Luna is the only flower girl left, and all eyes turn to her.

The spotlight doesn't bother her in the slightest.

She steps over the spilled flower petals left behind by her sisters and moves down the aisle with perfectly measured steps, scattering petals evenly across the floor. She carries herself with the same airy dignity that Rachel has. Lance is leaning out of the doorway to watch, grinning. He catches movement directly across from him, and sees Keith doing the exact same thing - shoulder leaned against the door frame, arms folded, smiling softly.

Lance's heart leaps the fleeting moment that their eyes meet. He jerks back around the corner.

A shuffling sound right beside him draws Lance's attention down, and he finds Malcolm looking up at him, giving him a knowing little smirk that looks too much like Luis for Lance's liking.

He huffs out a short laugh, blushing.

"What, mijo?"

Malcolm wiggles his eyebrows instead of answering.

Lance shoos him around the corner with a wave of his hands, laughing, "Go! Stop making that face!" Malcolm doesn't look sorry. He does go right back to task, though, in complete and utter seriousness, striding down the aisle after his cousin.

Lance is going to miss these kids when he goes back to space, and his heart trips painfully.

There's a moment as the first song fades, before the other picks up, where it is just Lance standing there alone. It's quiet, and his nerves shake themself back to the center of his focus. They tremble up through his legs, make his knees weak. The left one aches, just a little. Lance folds his hands together and unknots them nervously.

This is his last moment.

The last moment he has to be just Lance.

He has no idea why that thought is so thrilling and terrifying. He doesn't even have time to revel in it. The moment is gone. The music starts - that's his cue - and Lance's legs won't move. His feet stay rooted to the floor and Lance stares down at them, his breath pulling in sharply. He holds it in. Let's it out. He presses his hands into his chest. His stomach. He breaths again, more measured this time.

Keith is waiting for him.

That knowledge punches Lance right between the ribs.

Keith was so scared earlier.

Lance is scared now.

He's - scared, and excited, and he just - he needs to be with Keith. He needs to be with Keith.

Lance clears the door with one long stride, takes another out into the open room. His heart snags against the back of his ribs, his legs wobbling and threatening to give out underneath him, and it does not help - not at all - the moment he sees Keith standing in front of him at the end of the aisle, at the start of the path lined with flowers.

The thing is?

Lance saw him earlier.

That does not have any bearing at all on how he sees Keith now.

His dark hair still falls across his face, but the rest of it has been pulled back into a loose braid, woven through with strings of red flower buds. They're tiny flashes of color swimming in the sea of black. They pop brightly under the lights. They compliment the faint sheen of violet that runs through the strands as Keith lifts his head to look at Lance.

Lance's heart doesn't know what to do with that.

The flash of dark grey-violet eyes, the same color churning in the world outside, beyond the walls of shining glass.

Heat pools through Lance's chest, carried through him by his erratic heartbeat. He knows he's stopped walking. Knows he's staring dumbly. Knows his mouth is probably open and he's making a total fool of himself in front of all the most important people in his life.

He just doesn't care.

He doesn't care about anything other than Keith.

The white suit perfectly framing his shoulders, hugging his trim waist. The black vest peeking out from behind the lapels, stretched over a firm chest. The way Keith's eyebrows furrow and his mouth quirks up. His thumb rubbing along the length of his finger as he holds his hands awkwardly at his sides. The contrast between the familiar, nervous tick, the utterly soft expression on his face, and Keith's imposing figure is what snaps Lance out of his trance.

He closes that small remaining distance between them.

He reaches out to take Keith's hand.

They fold together instantly.

Keith's tentative smile spreads across his face. It infects Lance, and has them both blushing and grinning. Lance doesn't think his heart can fit in his chest anymore - it's too big, too full. He didn't think it would feel like this. Like every decision in his life has lead him to right now, standing beside Keith as an equal, ready to commit the rest of their lives to each other alone.

They still have to walk up the aisle first.

Keith tugs on his hand, and as they step forward together the rest of the room slowly comes into view again. Lance has no idea how much time they lost, how long everyone has been standing and waiting on the two of them to come to their senses. It could have been ten years. It could have been twenty.

Lance never would have known.

Sound bleeds back in next - a murmur of laughter, the soft music.

Any lingering worries are long gone. Lance's pulse kicks up and he grins at Keith, quickening his already long stride and pulling Keith with him. Keith stumbles, surprised at first, but he regains his footing. He keeps pace. He throws his head back and laughs, and Lance refuses to feel sorry for being so much all at once. For being impatient. For being silly.

It gets them down the aisle, doesn't it?

It makes Keith laugh.

Lance's mom hisses his name in playful reproach as they stumble up to the end of the aisle. Lance face hurts from the force of his smile. Pidge, standing in front of them apart from everyone else, looks thoroughly unimpressed, but the bond they all share is bright like the warm waters of the sea. Hunk is standing behind Lance, with Luna; Allura is behind Keith with Malcolm.

Hunk and Pidge are dressed in sleek grey suits with vests in their corresponding colors, yellow and green, and Allura's dress is grey, as well, trimmed in blue across the bust and down the flowing lapels of the gown. 

Pidge is standing on a plastic milk crate that's been draped over with a white sheet. Lance knows it's a milk crate because he watched Pidge carry it in from the store room of the adjacent bar and he had struggled to properly articulate a joke about Pidge needing milk to grow because they're so short. The attempt had gotten him a scowl, regardless of delivery.

In his defense, he'd been nervous.

He still is, but it's at the back of his mind now.

It only tells it the slight shake of his hand as he reaffirms his grip around Keith's. His heart does all the shaking after that, fluttering in his chest, beating up against his lungs like hummingbird wings. 

Pidge clears their throat behind their fist.

"Are we done with the theatrics?" they ask, with an obvious gesture at Lance and Keith, who are both just a little out of breath from their charged staring and their short sprint up the aisle.

Keith looks at Lance, eyebrow quirked, smirking.

"Are we?"

"I dunno," Lance laughs, "I thought we were just getting started with the theatrics."

It's that easy to fall into a rhythm. Lance hadn't been sure when he'd answered before - he was sure, he wanted this, absolutely, but it's so complicated.  He's feeling so much. But he is ready.

He hopes Keith is.

Pidge claps their hands together.

"Okay!" Pidge raises their voice to be heard clearly by the whole room, "So, this is going to be a little more informal than most weddings because I am unable to say dearly beloved with a straight face and also, ceremonies are boring. We're all here today to celebrate Keith and Lance finally tying the knot - as if didn't take them long enough to confess that they had feelings for each other in the first place, it has taken them even longer to get here - "

"Is this an attack or an officiation?" Lance cuts in.

They had mostly gone through the motions yesterday and "yadda yada"ed all the talking parts. He had no idea what Pidge was going to say, and his face heats, though he's laughing. He prefers this bantering to a stiff and formal ceremony, for sure. Beside him, Keith has his head ducked into his free hand, betrayed by the shake of his shoulders.

"I won at spacerock-paper-scissors," Pidge informs Lance, as if he didn't know that, "So I'll officiate however I want. Anyway. We're all happy for you, and we're honored to be here with you. You guys prepared vows to say to each other, so let's hear them. Who wants to go first?"

"I will," Lance says. He turns to Keith, teasing, "Since you confessed first."

Keith looks surprised. He had planned on going first - even when they glossed over this part yesterday, it had been "Keith says his vows, then Lance says his". Lance has happily let Keith lead in almost every aspect of their relationship. It made sense, because Keith was the one who set the boundaries and brought them up when he felt comfortable changing them.

Lance has never really had boundaries.

And he has been really struggling to come up with the right words, but now that the moment is here, he knows exactly what he wants to say.

He reaches down to grasp Keith's other hand, to hold them both as he looks into Keith's eyes.

He takes a deep breath.

"Keith, I know I'm… pretty annoying," Lance laughs, glancing down. Keith's grip around his hands tightens, and Lance goes on quickly, "I have… a lot of insecurities. And I'm like, super needy all the time. It's - I'm - a lot. I know I am. I've had a lot of moments during our relationship, especially in the beginning… where I felt like I should have maybe pulled back, or - or been been a little…  less enthusiastic. But you don't - you've never - made me feel that way. You've always made me feel… valued, and - and safe, and loved. You've always made me feel comfortable just being myself."

He builds up some steam as he goes on, meeting Keith's eyes, "Things started off pretty rocky between us. Part of that was my fault. I was jealous of you when we were kids; you were so confident and just so good at anything you set your mind to. I was kind of in awe of you, even back then, and you're still like that. It's still something that I love and admire about you. And growing up with you over the years, getting to know you, and being your friend and your Right Hand, it's made me more confident in my own abilities.

"I love what we have together. We meet each other head-on, and sometimes it's just butting heads, y'know? We're both too stubborn for our own good. But we get each other. We have our disagreements every now and then, but we always find a way to get past them and come out better for it on the other side. I couldn't imagine not being close to you the way we are now.

"I love you. So much, Keith. I promise to love you, and only you, in every way that you'll let me. I promise to try and actually save some space for you on the bathroom counter - " Keith had been blushing at that first line and all it implies, and then he bursts out a laugh. Lance grins. "And not clutter up every available surface area with cosmetics and lotion bottles. I promise to be there for you through the good times, and the bad times. I promise to always be myself, and to love you just the way you are. Because you're amazing, and beautiful, and talented, and you're so unbelievable loving. I can't - "

Lance sucks in a breath, fighting past the tightness growing in his throat and the heat building in his eyes.

"I can't wait to spend the rest if my life with you."

Keith is looking at him like he's holding his breath, his violet eyes dark and glistening.

Lance doesn't stop to think about it.

He grabs Keith in a tight hug - startles a sound out of him and a laugh out of everyone else. Keith's hands come up gently to cage his ribs, face rubbing into his collar. Pidge lands a couple of light smacks against his shoulder, playfully urging them apart.

"Hey, Lance, we're not there yet!"

"Sorry," Lance laughs, easing back.

Keith is laughing, too, scrubbing his eyes.

"Keith, say your vows," Pidge says.

"Right." Keith's voice is thick, lips twitching up into a helpless smile as he reaches into the pocket of his slacks and produced a folded-up piece of paper. "I, uh. I'm not. Great at talking. So I wrote mine down."

Veronica pipes up from the crowd, "It can't be worse than Lance's, Keith."

"Hey, there is no audience participation," Lance says, whirling to face her. He presses a hand into his own chest. "And that came from the heart!"

"That's what matters, bud," Hunk says.

"Can you two please behave for once?" Allura asks, "We'll never get through this."

"Keith," Pidge says again, "Say your vows."

----

Oddly enough, Keith's not nervous.

He was. Before.

He was standing at the end of the aisle and Lance had - panicked, he guesses. He knows. He felt the lurch of Lance's anxiety in the pit of his stomach and Keith had just stood there, letting it wash over him and meld with his own into something new and big and too hard to process. And then Lance had pushed through it and stepped into the room, quick and confident despite everything churning up inside of him, and Keith's heart had done a somersault.

An honest to god fucking somersault in his chest.

He saw Lance earlier, during his breakdown, but it doesn't count. Keith had been crying, and laughing, and hadn't really looked at him.

When he got the chance to?

It took his breath away.

Lance always looks nice, always takes pride in his appearance - it's one of the things that Keith loves about him. The way Lance looks in his wedding suit is certainly no exception. It fits across his wide shoulders and slims down his narrow hips, his long legs. The white a beautiful contrast against his brown skin and slightly darker hair; the flash of red across his chest, vest hidden beneath the lapels of his jacket, and the mesmerizing, vibrant blue of his eyes.

It made everything seem a lot more real. It drove in the fact that this was happening.

Keith had asked, and Lance said yes, and they're getting married.

Keith's hands don't even shake as he unfolds the paper he wrote his vows on. He's worried it between his hands a lot, fingers rubbing over the creases and thinning them out until it threatens to tear apart. He has carried these words inside of his heart and kept them close for so long, it was almost a relieve to write them down. But once they were out, they were trapped there.

He gets to say them now. He gets to let them go, and move on, and be with Lance for the rest of their lives. Keith reaches out to hold Lance's hand, flashing him a small smile that Lance immediately reciprocates ten fold. The warmth from that spreads through Keith and gives him the strength to finally take this leap - to jump, knowing he is going to be caught.

"Lance. I had… a rough couple of years after my dad died. I felt lost… and alone… and I…. I couldn't open up to people. When we first went out into space, I know it was hard on everyone else, but I couldn't help feeling like I finally had a purpose. I know I wasn't easy to get along with back then. I had a lot of walls up. And… and losing Shiro just made it harder…."

Ah… Keith didn't think he'd actually cry, but here he goes.

The paper blurs for a second and then clears, a thick tear sliding free. Keith feels his throat closing, and he swallows, speaking past it,

"I hadn't had a home in so long, I forgot… what that was like. I didn't think I needed anyone else, and I tried so hard to do everything all on my own. I… I still get like that sometimes. It's something I struggle with every day. But you guys have never given up on me, and that's… given me the strength to never give up on myself. I'm so grateful for that.

"Lance, you're my - you're my best friend." Keith trembles around that one. Just barely. Just enough for Lance's other hand to come up and wrap around Keith's where he's clutching at the paper, thumb pressing into his wrist. "I-I don't…. think I'd even be here if it wasn't for you. You've always been there for me. You always push me to be better and live up to all my potential; to ask for help, and to talk to someone when I'm feeling overwhelmed, and to take a step back every now and then before things get out of control.

"You've always adapted easily to any kind of challenge. It's one of the most amazing things about you. I have a hard time accepting change, so the unconditional love and the stability that you bring to my life comforts me in more ways than you know.

"I promise," Keith takes a deep breath, "I promise to always try to be that person for you, too. I promise to continue loving you, and supporting you, and making sure that you're happy, the same way we've been loving and supporting each other all these years. I know family is the most important thing to you, and I'm so proud to be a part of that.

"Lance, my… my home is wherever you are."

Keith's heart is pounding. His legs, his whole body, shaking like a leaf. It's frightening laying himself bare like that in front of so many people, and he's glad he wrote it all down beforehand - glad that Lance is still holding onto his hands - because he would have choked partway through otherwise.

Lance lifts one of his hands, now, and brushes the back of his fingers over Keith's cheek.

Keith is glad to see they're both crying about it, at least. Lance's blue eyes are bright with unshed tears, a few of them wetting his face, but his smile is still so warm that Keith melts instantly into his touch without even meaning to. It kind of surprises him to see Pidge with their hand slipped beneath the frame of their glasses, rubbing their eyes. Everybody else looks pretty emotional, too, when he self-consciously scans the room.

Well.

Kolivan looks about as stoic as always.

But everyone else is dabbing at their eyes, and laughing fondly, and joking about how much of a mess they're all being. Lance's dad, Diego, has his head bowed. Hunk is loudly blowing his nose into a tissue, and Coran has both his arms around Bandor, bawling with fervor while Romelle pats his back soothingly and offers him a box of tissues.

Keith feels his face heat up.

"Guess I got a little heavy," he murmurs, staring at his and Lance's interlocked hands.

"Don't worry about it. You're supposed to make everybody cry at weddings, babe," Lance says, voice deep with affection.

It stirs up something in Keith's stomach.

Pidge clears their throat, fans their face and blinks away the last of their tears, trying to unscrunch their crying face into something more passive.

"Okay. Now that you've said your vows and ruined everyone's mascara," Pidge says, "It's time to exchange the rings."

They make a motion with their hand, and Allura urges Malcolm forward with a gentle push before she lifts a tissue to dab at her eyes again. Lance's nephew steps up beside Pidge and presents the box to Keith first with a very solemn expression. Keith almost laughs as he opens it up and takes out Lance's ring, but he holds it in. Lance is grinning with abandon as takes out Keith's ring when Malcolm presents the box to him, and he ruffles Malcolm's hair before the boy steps away.

Pidge motions for them to proceed, and speaks while Lance and Keith take turns returning each others rings. It's weird. Keith doesn't really like jewelry, except for the few piercing he has, but he had missed the weight of it. It was only a few hours, and he felt so off-balanced without it on. It eases his mind to watch Lance slide the ring back onto his finger and feel the cool stone slowly warm. To feel that thrilling sensation that their heartbeats align as he takes Lance's hand and slides his ring on.

He feels that, anyway, sometimes. Their internal rhythm gets in sync, and Keith can feel it. He knows it's just his side of the bond, his Galra genes recognizing Lance as his life mate and seeking consolidation.

He hopes with all his heart that Lance feels a little bit of that, too.

"These rings are a symbol of your commitment to one another," Pidge is saying, "Of the love, and trust, and respect that you have for one another as equals. Of the promise you've made to carry each other in your hearts and minds, way down in your souls, no matter how heavy they get, and to be a beacon of light for each other even the darkest times. So basically: keep doing what you're doing."

Pidge bats their hand, and there's some scattered laughter.

"Keith. Do you promise to do that?"

Keith nods. "I do."

"Lance?"

Lance squeezes his hands, voice shaking, "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Okay then!" Pidge chirps. They spread their arms. "By the power vested in me by a very unofficial looking website and more importantly by my title as Paladin of the Green Lion of Voltron, I now pronounce you: Husbands! You can kiss each other now."

Keith doesn't need to be told twice.

He is aware of the sudden outbreak of applause, of the cheering and shouting and the rush of sound as everyone in the room surges to their feet, and all the eyes that are turned toward them - but in that moment he doesn't care. He wants to kiss his husband. He wants to kiss Lance. And he wants to keep kissing him until all the air goes out of his lungs.

Lance's hands cup around his face, fingertips searing into his skin as they dip into his hair, threatening to spill it out of the intricate braid Nadia worked so hard to make. Keith closes his arms around Lance's waist to pull their bodies flush together, chest to chest, hip to hip.

It's just as magnetizing as the first time.

Maybe it is the first, in a way.

Lance's lips press firmly against Keith's, and there is nothing shy or uncertain about it this time. Keith opens his mouth, tongue glazing over Lance bottom lip, pulse rocketing away when Lance responds eagerly. His hand tangles into Keith's hair. Keith doesn't mask the noise he makes at the soft pull against his scalp. When they break apart to shrill hoots and whistles, Lance looks just as dazed as Keith feels. He finds his focus a little more quickly; chuckles, dipping his head to one side.

"Wow," he says, "Pretty sure I heard a noise."

"You want to hear it again?" Keith asks.

Pidge forces their way in between them, pushing Keith and Lance apart as they step down from the milk crate and announce to the room, "Alright, they're married and we're all starving. Let's eat!"

"Pidge," Lance huffs, still stubbornly clinging to Keith's arms even as Pidge wedges past them, "We're supposed to walk down the aisle!"

"Less sucking face and more walking then," Pidge says, clapping their hands, "Chop chop!"

Colleen Holt hisses, "Katie," and grabs Pidge out of the aisle right about the time the music starts up again. Hunk darts forward and grabs Keith and Lance by the shoulders, turning them around to face the crowd. Allura comes up to their other side.

Beaming, she addresses their guests, "It is our greatest honor to present -"

"Lance and Keith Kogane-McClain!" Hunk finishes with a flourish.

Their friends and family all cheer. The enthusiastic clapping drowns out all else - except for the sudden peel of thunder that rattles every window pane, the downpour of rain that breaks over the roof and streaks down the glass walls in long glowing rivulets. Lance's mouth pops open in surprise as he stares out the window, at their reflection thrown against the glass by the bright lights of the room.

He looks at Keith and grins, and drags Keith down the aisle.

They're running again.

Maybe Lance can't help it.

Maybe the water still calls to him, the way that heat still calls to Keith. They have formed into their roles as Black and Red, soul and fire, but their hearts are still the same - still burning with every old passion and still arching out to meet the next, newer and brighter each time. A spark that's shared, that lights them both from the inside out.

Lance slams open the nearest door and Keith tumbles out after him. The rain is heavy but it slacks off some. It takes a few seconds to begin soaking through the fabric of their suit jackets. Keith's hair sticks to his face as he looks up into the rolling clouds. A strand of hair slides free of the braid, and Lance's nimble fingers reach up to pluck away one of those rich red buds.

They ghost across his cheekbones.

They settle on his neck, Lance's thumb pressing into the soft place below his jaw, feeling the way Keith's pulse reaches for him. Lance dips forward and kisses him again. And again. And again. He drops them all across Keith's face. He hooks his arm around Keith's neck to lock him in place when he laughs out loud and thrashes to escape.

It's no use.

Keith is exactly where he wants to be.

----

They spend the first twenty minutes of their marriage soaking wet and shivering because they're both impulsive idiots.

But, by now, Lance thinks that has already been well established.

At least no one is surprised.

"Now look," Allura tuts during the reception, attempting to comb Lance's hair back into something presentable even though they're sitting at the table, eating, and it doesn't matter right now, "You're both going to look bedraggled in the rest of your photographs."

She casts Keith an especially mournful look. He's lost a few of the buds in his hair, the braid pulling loose, and the ones that have stuck around have been popped open by the rain, petals the size of buttons freckling Keith's dark hair. It gives him an even wilder look than usual, and the way his damp vest fits across his chest, his jacket discarded to dry over the back of his seat - Lance's stomach jumps, a smile spreading through his very soul.

He has to look down into his soup, suddenly bashful, before anyone notices.

He definitely doesn't need to be thinking about how attractive Keith is right now, because he is already feeling giddy, and stupid, and so content he's almost dizzy with it. Maybe some of that's the champagne.

The venue's bar and dining area is spacious enough to fit the thirty of them comfortably. It gives everyone a better chance to mingle. Most of the kids are sitting together; Sylvio and Bandor have taken up with each other, and Nadia is ever in her big brother's wake. Keith is with Adam, Axca, Kolivan, and Veronica on the other side of the room. Romelle is with Hunk and Shay and Matt. Pidge's parents and Lance's parents, and Luis and Lisa all gathered around the same table.

Pidge is with Marco and Coran, a tablet propped on the table between their soup and sandwiches, and Lance thinks it's probably the video from the wedding that they're all going over. Rachel and Allura are talking, now, on his left, and David is begging Ariadne to chew her sandwich before she swallows it on his right. Lance is kind of grateful that they're not paying attention to him.

He's still kind of…. Absorbing everything.

He keeps looking around the room. Keeps snagging on bits of conversation and turning his head toward the sound of laughter. His family is so much bigger than it was and it's nice seeing everyone in one place.

"Uncle Lance!"

Maddison is standing up in her chair, facing him. Rachel turns toward her daughter and sighs, "Maddie, our butts go in the seat, not our feet!" Maddison plops down with a scowl, still clutching the back of the chair with both hands and still looking at Lance, who doesn't bother hiding his grin.

"We want cake!" Mila chirps.

Maya hits the table with her fists in a short rhythm, the three of them chanting, "Cake, cake cake cake."

Several other voices and fists join the energetic beat, and Lance laughs as he stands.

"Okay okay! If everybody's done, let's dig into this thing. Hunk?"

"I'm on it!"

Hunk is on his feet and running for the back room with Romelle hot on his heels, both of them eager to show off their handiwork. And honestly? Lance doesn't blame them as they roll it out on a small table. The cake is three tiers tall, covered in perfectly smooth white icing with immaculate piping all down the sides that changes color from tier to tier- red, then blue, then purple - and draws out increasingly intricate designs. It kind of looks like hieroglyphics.

Lance stares at it for almost a full minute before he recognizes the boxy shape of Lions.

Like the cave paintings where they found Blue.

"Oh my god!" he says loudly.

He doesn't realize Keith has come up to stand beside him until Keith mutters, just as stunned, "Wow! Hunk, that looks amazing."

"Right?" Hunk asks, not a humble bone in his body when it comes to his craft, "Thought it'd been a cool way to kind of bring this thing full circle, y'know what I mean? And all three layers are a different kind of cake and icing combo, too! The bottom's red velvet, with cream cheese icing, of course; the middle is dulche de leche; and the top is vanilla bean with mint!"

The cake is way bigger than Lance thought it was gonna be, considering he specifically asked Hunk not to get too carried away. This is perfect, though. And every one of the kids is practically foaming at the mouth to get to this thing.

Lance just isn't sure how to approach it. This is another small ceremony, technically. He's been to dozens of weddings, but he never really paid much attention to the cake unless he was putting it in his mouth.

"Uhh. So, what, do we start at the top, or?"

His mom suggests, "You and Keith cut a piece out of the bottom together."

"Don't shove it in my face," Keith says immediately, turning to him.

Lance thinks he's allowed to be offended. He puts a hand on his chest, reeling back.

"As if I would do such a thing!

"You definitely would."

"Wait, Uncle Keith," Nadia says, pulling on his arm, "Let me fix your hair first."

"Yeah, get it out of his face, Nads," Lance says, grinning, moving one thick strand of hair behind Keith's ear and receiving a suspicious glare in return.

Keith sits and let's Nadia rework the braid for the photos. She manages to salvage most of the buds and ties it off with the same red hair pin, patting his shoulders once she's finished. Cutting a piece of cake out while everyone watches, bantering and taking pictures, is probably one of the silliest things Lance has ever done. But Keith is right there with him, looking incredibly serious about the whole thing, like this task deserves every ounce of his concentration. 

When it comes down to feeding each other the first piece, he remains defensive.

It's so cute.

Lance is grinning.

"Don't -" Keith starts.

"I won't."

"You're laughing!"

"Of course I'm laughing, this is ridiculous! My own husband doesn't trust me??"

"Your husband has good reason not to trust you with something like this."

It takes a bit of encouragement, mostly from the crowd of loved ones who are impatient to have some cake already and move on to the gift-giving. Keith finally relents, and Lance sticks the bite of cake in his mouth without any theatrics.

"See?" he demands.

Keith hums at him while he chews, but it's hard to tell if it's in answer or if it's just because the cake is so good. Probably both. He cuts a second bite-sized piece away from the larger piece they cut together and holds it up, and Lance opens his mouth, leaning forward.

Keith's face heats up unexpectedly.

The next thing Lance knows, that entire piece is in Keith's hand - and getting shoved into his face. He doesn't even have a second to react. He is blindsided by that heated look in Keith's eyes, though it's only there for half a moment, and then there's just cake. Part of it gets into his mouth. Most of it doesn't.

The brief taste of chocolate and cream cheese is not enough to assuage Lance's shock.

His utter indignation.

His unfathomable disbelief. 

"Keith!!"

"Sorry, Lance," Keith laughs.

Lance reaches blindly, aiming for the cake. That's when Hunk intervenes, laughing, also panicked, "Nononono no, not the cake, not the cake!" Lance latches onto Keith instead. They're both caught by Hunk's large hands, ushering them away from the cake before they do something regrettable, and Keith can't get away from him. He still struggles to break Lance's grip on his biceps, tries to lean away.

"Lance! Don't!"

"Oh it is way too late!!"

They can't ever do anything the easy way.

Lance doesn't stop until both of their faces are evenly smeared with cake and icing. They're both rolling on the floor like idiots among the table and chair legs, while everyone else is laughing at their antics. 

When Keith complains, Lance tells him he can just lick it off if he's that upset about it. He doesn't say it to embarrass Keith and is worried the second it's too late that it might. Keith probably knows he's thinking it, or is thinking something within the same vein, himself. His cheeks are flushed when he finally starts wiping the mess off, and his laugh is husker.

Lance is the only one who notices that, attuned to the nuance, and his body reflexively lights up when he hears it.

Dessert is a great distraction from that.

Lance needs it.

He gratefully slices the freshly dismantled cake depending on everyone's preference, and Keith dips out the ice cream. They did the same thing with the actual meal - served their friends and family - because that's the way things are done around here. Their budget was barely holding on after the flowers and decorations and other odds and ends, so it was soups and sandwiches. Something cheap and easy that didn't seem cheap and easy, and no one would care even if it did.

The food is delicious.

The time they get to spend with everybody is what really matters to them all, anyway. 

Lance hadn't even wanted to do gifts, but his parents insistent that it was tradition and most people would probably do it whether they asked them to or not. Lance just didn't see the point. They don't need like, a toaster oven, or jewelry, or porcelain plates that they're never going to use, or any of the other typical stuff you give people for their weddings.

Despite that, he is kind of interested.

Especially after they clear all the remaining food away and sweep off the tables, and he and Keith pull a couple of chairs out into the middle of the floor so that people can come up and present them with their gifts - and Kolivan is the first one to approach.

"Keith. Lance." He nods his head curtly. Keith nods back, smiling, and Lance nods back, grinning. "It is an honor being invited to attend this celebration of your devotion to one another. I thought I might use the opportunity to give Keith something he has been sorely missing all these years and, as is customary among the Blade, I had one crafted for Lance, as well."

He holds a wide grey box out to them.

Lance takes one side of it and Keith the other, and they share a brief, curious glance before Keith unfastens the latch keeping the box closed. Lance lifts the lid.

Inside are two Marmorite Blades, sleek black with lighter, curving edges, hilts crafted from the same material. The blade that is obviously meant for Keith has a purple jewel embedded in the hilt, the symbol two jagged swirls overlapping. The blade that is meant for Lance has a red one, and the symbol is shaped more like a rough version of the letter T.

Keith lifts his out with a sort of reverence. 

He's never had a blade of his own.

One that was fully and irrevocably his.

He carried his mother's for most of his life without even knowing what it meant - or who he was - and ever since he buried it he's gone without. In a way, it was like burying a part of himself. It's one of many small things that has always set him apart from the others Blades, and Lance knows that it bothers him even if Keith doesn't show it.

"What are these symbols?" Keith asks.

"In your tongue," Kolvian says, point to Keith's blade first and then to Lance's, "Trust. And Respect."

That's fitting. Like intimately fitting for each of them. Keith has always has some issues with trusting people, and letting them in, and Lance has not always been the best at respecting Keith's boundaries, his inability to talk about or deal with things. They've worked in those things together.

Kolivan goes on,

"These two are key to any relationship, whether between mates or comrades in arms, and I thought it more fitting than the common symbol of the Blade. Considering the occasion."

There's actually a smile on Kolivan's face.

It's small, but it's there, and Lance is glad he's sitting down. He picks his own blade up out of the box. It's lighter than he expects it to be, glinting in the light.

"Does this make me an honorary Blade?" Lance asks, grinning.

"It does," Kolivan says, "If you'd like, you can be a part of the next initiation ceremony. Members of the Blade are not often mated. Their work is too important for personal ties. But times are changing for the better. I hope you will accept the offer."

"Absolutely." Wow, he cannot stop smiling. He looks at Keith, makes sure to ask, "It's up to you, though. I know this is your thing. Do you want me to?"

Keith chuckles at him, finally looks up from the blade he's holding carefully in his hands.

"Guess there's a reason you got that one," he teases, pointing to the symbol on Lance's blade, "Yeah. I'd… I'd really like sharing this with you."

"Don't get all sentimental on me, mullet," Lance says, only because he can't bear it.

They'll both start crying.

"Thank you, Kolivan," Keith says.

"It is my honor, Paladins," Kolivan assured him with a deep bow. More informally, he drops a hand on Keith's shoulder. Then he steps away.

It's a great start.

Romelle and Bandor perform some not-quite-Altean dance as an offering of good fortune for the years to come. Which is wild and hilarious to watch.

Colleen and Sam Holt give Lance a bell-jar shaped container that plays a different melody depending on what kind of organic material is placed inside. Essentially - every time Keith gives Lance a new flower, he can put it inside and it will sing. Which is absolutely the coolest thing Lance has ever seen in his entire life, and he just received a custom-forged, secret society, alien knife that may (or may not, probably) transform into a kick ass sword on command.

Of course the Holts would give them some weird science plant thing that is way ahead of its time.

Shay's gift is - please pretend to be shocked - a rock.

It's a rock. The size of like, a dinosaur egg. Shay goes on to explain that the two of them are supposed to crack it open together, and an elder from their tribe reads the markings within to tell the fortune of their future together. So, an exciting rock egg! Lance and Keith crack it at once right there on the floor, holding it between both of their hands.

It breaks neatly through the middle, both fresh ends of the geode perfectly smooth as if split apart with extreme heat, and filled with millions of facets of bright blue that reflect the light in a cascade with each turn of their wrists. Shay exclaims in wonder when she sees it, "This never happens. Always there are divots in the break and small pieces that fall away to examine! Your resonance must go very deep!"

The facets inside can still be read.

Since Coran is the oldest member of their "tribe", and probably the only person other than Shay who might actually know what they're looking at, Keith and Lance pass him the stones. He proceeds to give an exuberant speech about the lasting endearment of a fulfilling relationship and other embarrassing things, and even goes off onto a thread about offspring, and that's the point where Lance, laughing hysterically, pries the geodes out of his hands and thanks him.

Rachel is grinning.

"I wouldn't mind to surrogate," she offers.

Keith's face is red when Lance's mom adds, "You two would make beautiful babies."

Lance is not denying that. He thinks about holding a baby with Keith's beautiful eyes and wild hair and his own dark skin and wide smile way more often than he probably should, but he laughs it off, because it is way too soon for all of that. That's a whole other thing that they have to figure out together.

"I think we need to get a dog first."

Keith visibly relaxes at the suggestion, says, "A dog would be good."

"Well, listen, I'm glad you're saying that," Pidge says, grinning, "Because we were thinking about giving you guys a pet as your wedding present. Y'know, something high-energy that also likes to cuddle..."

Allura bursts out excitedly, "We got you a caerulaian lup!!"

"A what?"

"A dog," Hunk says, "We got you guys a dog."

"A space dog," Pidge clarifies.

Keith looks like it's his birthday; mouth open, eyes wide, speechless with the sheer amount of joy that he's radiating, hands spread as if they're just going to drop the dog right into his arms at any moment.

Lance demands, "Well, where is it!?"

"We couldn't bring him with us," Allura says. This should be obvious. It's a living creature. Definitely not something the Galaxy Garrison would clear. "You can see him after your honeymoon."

"I can't see my own son!?"

"That's not fair!"

"You brought it up!" Pidge says, "We were just going to surprise you with it, but who doesn't take an opportunity like this. Plus, we didn't want to seem like we came to this thing empty handed."

"You have more gifts to open, anyway," Luis says, depositing one in Keith's lap.

It's not a dog. That's disappointing, Lance isn't even going to lie. Instead it's a large package wrapped in brown paper, held together with some string, and it's soft when Lance gropes the corner to see what it is. He had an idea. It's shaped….. suspiciously. And his parents and his siblings are all grinning.

"A gift from your familia," Diego says, putting his arm around his wife, "To welcome Keith into the fold, and so you will both have a little something from here to take with you when you go home."

Keith is already untying the string and plucking at the corner of the paper.

He tears it open.

Abuelita Muriel's cursed blanket is glaring up at them, a patchwork of fabrics in every color, each covered in intricate patterns of embroidery, and Lance's knee-jerk reaction is to throw it out of his lap.

Only the look on Keith face stays his hands.

How is it that with every new gift he looks more and more surprised? Keith isn't really a material-things kind of guy. Most of his birthday presents have been activities because he just isn't used to accumulating things and has never picked up the knack for it. There are probably a handful of items in their room or scattered around the Castle that actually belong to Keith, aside from his small wardrobe - the rest belongs to Lance, or are things Lance picked out.

These are all symbols of the life they're going to have together, going forward.

Maybe that's what making such a big impact on him.

Keith lifts the blanket up like it's made of glass. Lance feels almost betrayed. However much him and his siblings like to play it up to annoy their parents, he really does not have overly fond memories associated with this blanket, and he didn't think his family would conspire against him by propositioning it as a gift rather than an obligation.

How can he say that he doesn't want it when Keith is looking at it like that? He feels the fabric, soft with age, between his hands. He lifts it to his face and glances at Lance when he breathes in.

"It smells like you guys," he says, with a tiny grin.

Lance clutches his chest and has to look away. He feels like he's been shot, but in a good way. A way that makes him feel warm and soft. He loves this stupid man so damn much it's unbearable, and he gusts out a thanks at his family, because that's his gift. That smile. That faint blush across Keith's face and the careful way he folds the quilt back up and places it among the rest of their thoughtful gifts.

He stands up to hug both of Lance's parents, and then every one of Lance's siblings grab him up next, all of them laughing.

They start the dancing shortly after that.

Music has been playing in the background this whole time, and Lance has been itching to have his first dance with Keith. Dancing has always been his favorite part of other peoples'weddings, of course it's going to be his favorite part of his own. He's grateful that his leg isn't hurting a lot. There's some heat in it, and a sharp pang every now and then, but it's nothing serious.

Keith makes it a point to ask about it as they clear out the rows of white chairs from the venue's dance floor themselves. Rain is still showering away against the windows, a gentle noise that permeates and cools the room. Sylvio is playing with the overhead lights, having discovered the switchboard and the multicolored bulbs, and the mood shifts dramatically as he tries to get it in sync with the current music.

"You okay?" Keith asks.

Lance beams at him. "I promise to pace myself, alright?"

"That doesn't answer my question, Lance."

"I'm fine, Keith."

"Okay."

They get stuck there for a moment, leaning into each other. Lance's heart works doubletime to compensate for the sudden headrush. His hand rests on Keith's arm, and he's so aware of Keith's body. The toes of their shoes almost touching. The overwhelming scent of his cologne. Keith's nose just faintly brushing the bolt of Lance's jaw, breath hot across his neck. His hair tickling Lance's face.

Nadia passes by them with a broom, sweeping up any stray flower petals, and everything else snaps back into focus.

The lights, the rain, the music.

The dozens of people milling about, moving a few of the extra chairs to the edges of the room.

Lance is winded, feels like he just ran a marathon. Keith laughs in his ear and pulls back. Lance squeezes his elbow, but let's him go before anyone notices them being embarrassing. Lance is ready to dance. He has got to do something with all this energy that keeps dragging him to Keith.

As it turns out, dancing doesn't exactly help.

The first song is slow and familiar, one they dance to often when they're alone, whenever they do dancing for date night. It allows them to be close and move in sync together and Lance is more breathless than he should be, considering it's a ballad and not anything even remotely strenuous or provocative.

Just being able to smell Keith and feeling his hands is enough to keep Lance agitated through the whole thing. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy it. It's the best of many best moments of his life, most of which have taken place just within a few hours of each other. Keith keeps glancing down at his feet, but he always drags his eyes back up. They're nose-to-nose, and Lance can hear Keith's deep chuckle perfectly, can feel the rhythm of it in his own chest.

They're just swaying, now that everyone else is pairing off and dancing, too.

"I'm not much of a dancer," Axca says.

Veronica is pulling her onto the floor anyway, with a confident grip around the other woman's wrist.

"I'll show you how it's done~"

"Katie, I want one dance."

"Ugh, fine."

Matt is showing Shay how to waltz, undaunted by her larger size, while Hunk is showing Lance's brothers how to do a Kerslokerian dance that actually requires three legs. Lance's mom has coaxed Kolivan onto the floor, though he isn't moving very much, and Lance's dad is dancing with all three of the triplets at once. Allura is talking to Adam near one of the windows.

Lance turns back to look at Keith.

"Can't believe you shoved that cake in my face," Lance mutters, ignoring the way his heart pulses at the vivid purple that's showing through in Keith's eyes, "After making such a big fuss about me doing it."

"I panicked," Keith admits. His grin says that he is unrepentant.

"Uhuh," Lance huffs.

He can't help grinning back. He really can't.

"I said I was sorry," Keith says with a playful attitude.

He's put his suit jacket back on for some ungodly reason. Lance kept his off because he knew he would warm up dancing, and he tugs at Keith's lapels, smoothing his hands down them all the way to where the buttons meet at Keith's midriff.

"You remember what I said?" he asks.

Keith hums, thinking about it.

The sound dips right into Lance's stomach, along with Keith's voice, "Oh right." His hands are hugging Lance's biceps. He uses that grip to pull Lance in and tips his head down. Their lips brush, and Lance automatically parts his, inhaling, caught with wanting to be kissed so bad. Keith licks the corner of Lance's mouth, instead.

That should not be hot.

Lance should not be shivering and turning his head and hungrily closing his mouth over Keith's, tugging him closer by the front of his suit. His palms are sweating. It'll wrinkle. Lance relaxes his hands, splays them over Keith's ribs. Keith kisses him back, a low noise in the back of his throat, pushing into Lance's mouth. They've stopped even pretending to dance at this point.

Keith takes all of Lance's air with him when he pulls back, and Lance struggles to recover.

"I need… to sit down for a minute," Lance manages, "Will you get me some ice?"

Keith looks surprised by the sudden change of topic. He processes the words - it takes him a minute, which is fine. Lance needs a minute too. He needs several. Then Keith nods, and drops his hands away.

Lance follows him off the dance floor to the edge of the room, and it's only under the slightly dimmer light that Lance dares to glance around. Everyone who isn't dancing is talking. No one is even looking their way. Keith stoops to get at the cooler underneath the table, genuinely believing that Lance wanted ice.

Lance hauls him up by his elbow and pulls him to the door.

The dining area is dark except for the stormy light filtering in through the windows at the front.

"Lance-?"

"I don't want ice, you idiot."

"I thought your leg -"

"My leg is fine."

It takes dragging Keith all the way into the back of the room, behind the bar, for it to click.

"Oh."

Lance turns to face him, gripping the lapels of his jacket more fervently than before, grinning.

"Yeah, oh. Ah-"

Well, that's one of many embarrassing and stupid noises Lance makes on his way down as Keith practically tackles him to the floor. He's laughing about it until Keith's mouth covers his. Then it's muffled, turning into something needy. Keith's weight settles between his open legs, and Lance curls his knees to hug Keith's hips, slips one hand into Keith's hair and the other inside of his jacket, holding Keith's back. Sparks flutter in the pit of his stomach. Keith's tongue parts his lips, and that feeling rushes up into Lance's ribs. Keith kisses him like he's been waiting years to do it. This is only the third time they've kissed since they said their vows.

Since they were married.

Keith is his husband.

His husband is working his palm beneath Lance's vest and making a frustrated noise into Lance's mouth when he only meets more clothes. His husband scrapes his teeth affectionately against Lance's lip before he turns his head to drop kisses across Lance's face. His husband is kissing his temple, below his ear. His husband opens his mouth against that tender place beneath Lance's jaw and rubs his tongue over Lance's skin because he knows not to leave a mark that someone else might see right now, even though he wants to.

Lance is unbuttoning everything before he realizes it.

The collar to bear his throat, the front of the shirt, the vest - it all comes undone under his fumbling hands, and Keith's fingers burn him as they slip beneath the fabric to push it open. Yes. Lance shakes underneath him, twisting his grip in Keith's hair to turn his head and getting such a lovely sound for it.

They can't have sex on the floor of a bar during their wedding reception with thirty other people in the other room. Lance doesn't really want to have sex. He just wants Keith to touch him, to be as close to Keith as physically possible right now. It's all rushed and heavy. Lance is gasping and arching his back to press his body into Keith's, and Keith is groaning softly in his ear, the heat of his mouth grazing over Lance's sensitive neck a moment before he bites down over his mark.

Lance cries out and belatedly has the sense to clamp his hand down over his mouth.

Keith doesn't break the skin.

He just bears down, the sharp pinpoints of his fangs imprinting deep enough that Lance's whole body shudders hard. That pleasure-pain pulses deep. He swears to god, Keith almost gets him right there on the spot. The release of all that landsliding tension is that good and it's instantaneous. That's exactly what they both needed.

Keith is panting through his nose as he slowly relaxes his jaw, and Lance barely stifles his own moan.

He turns his face into Keith's hair.

"I'm never gonna leave you," he gasps, nuzzling the crown of Keith's head, both arms wrapped around him tightly, "You know that?"

"I know," Keith pants, "I love you."

He laves over his mark with his tongue and rubs the side of his face against Lance's neck, making him chuckle. They calm down a little with a few deep breaths. Keith slowly lifts his head, kissing his way up Lance's neck. They're both content to just kiss and press against each other now that everything has boiled over. There is nothing but the distant sound of rain and thunder grumbling, the thump of nearby music and laughing voices; that pleasant heaviness buzzing through Lance's veins.

It's buzzing through Keith's, too. That sense of belonging.

Lance really feels like they were made for each other. He can't even imagine what his life would be like without Keith, and he doesn't want to.

----

Saying goodbye to everyone is like, stupid hard.

Lance makes five half-hearted attempts to leave. Keith makes two, and then doesn't bother trying again. They keep getting sucked into conversations and games and having one more piece of cake. This is not a bad thing. It's just that a part of Lance is absolutely dying to get out of here and have Keith all to himself, and a part of him is basking in being surrounded by his friends and family.

He wishes it could be like this more often.

He hopes, in the future, that it can be.

They still have that whole conference to do about Earth joining the Coalition. Delegates are going to be arriving at the Galaxy Garrison's head facility in Arizona next week, and all of the Paladins are going to be there. It's only fitting. That's where they started out.

It really does feel like everything is coming full circle.

Lance feels such a deep sense of peace that he can't even be annoyed when he is asked to pick Ariadne up for another dance on his sixth attempt to leave. Keith dances with Nadia. They take a few more (dozen) photos together, just the two of them, and groups at random, and Hunk makes sure to give them both containers of their favorite portions of the cake.

Lance, blushing, plucks money pinned to the tail end of Keith's jacket while his siblings laugh and Keith twists around to watch him, confused, but smiling.

"Okay, seriously, I love you guys, this has been amazing and I deeply appreciate each and every one of you, but we gotta go," Lance says, laughing, the seventh time he's stopped from pulling Keith out the door, "Is it too much to ask to be with my husband?"

"You didn't ask last time," Hunk points out, raising his eyebrows.

"That's none of your business, hermano…!"

The eighth time, they actually make it outside before someone stops them.

It's Adam, of all people.

"One more thing," he says, trying and failing not to laugh at their exasperated faces.

"We've heard that all night," Keith says, turning to face Adam underneath the archway leading into the bar. Varadero's nightlife is in full swing around them, the streetlights and flashing signs glinting off the wet pavement, the rain still misting down steadily around them. "What's up, Adam?"

"Just wanted to congratulate you two again," Adam says. He extends his hand to Lance, who grins and grips it tightly. "It's still a little funny to me, you boys ending up together. You were both in my class back as the Garrison. Keith was always stuck in his own head, and Lance was doing his best to keep everyone's attention on him. You've really grown up."

"Not too much," Keith says, a little embarrassed, "I still get stuck in my head sometimes."

"And I definitely still like attention," Lance says, grinning at Keith.

Adam laughs.

"Still," he says, in that bright but solemn way of his, "You've both come a long way from being the kids that you were back then. It's nice to see. Has anyone told you how proud Takashi would be if he could see you, Keith?"

Keith's face heats up at the unexpected comment, but he smiles softly.

"Not recently," he says, "I know he would be."

Adam nods. He produces a small album and sets it in Keith's hands when he lifts them in surprise.

"I thought you might want these."

Keith blinks at it, glances up at Adam and then back down. He's received a lot of gifts today, and he still looks confused. The cover of the book is sleek black leather, a thin silver plate embedded into it along the top with numbers - a date - engraved into the metal. When Keith just keeps staring at it, Lance, curious to see what it is, nudges Keith's shoulder with his and prompts him.

"Well, open it, Keith."

Slowly, Keith lifts the cover of the album and reveals the first glossy page.

Shiro's face beams back at them.

Much younger than Lance has ever seen him, yes, but it's still Shiro. Headful of cole-black hair, round cheeks that are full with his wide smile, dark eyes, crisp orange cadet uniform folding in all the right places as he salutes the camera. He can't be any older than they were when they first joined the Garrison. Lance is pretty sure he has a photo just like this of himself - so proud to be there after working so hard. That pride and eagerness radiates from the photo.

There are three more pushed with care into the sleeve of the page. These are less formal, still around the same age; Shiro with glasses crammed onto his face, bowed over a table full of books at the Garrison library. Shiro, cheeks flushed and puffed out with exertion, straining to do a push-up. Shiro standing in line beside a bunch of other boys who are all older than himself, grinning.

Keith's hand trembles as he starting flipping rapidly through the pages.

Shiro ages with each turn. He shoots up, he fills out. That friendly smile stays exactly the same whether it is directed at the camera or at someone else. That calm and gentle confidence eases out of the small boy captured within the first dozen or so photos, until they're looking at Shiro as they knew him, and Keith finally stops on a page that has a photo he wasn't ready for.

It's himself, and Shiro. They're sitting on a low wall in the courtyard outside the Garrison's mess hall with two discarded trays between them. Shiro is smiling while he talks, forming a big gesture with his hands. Keith is half his size; messy dark hair, feet swinging against the face of the wall as he rests his weight on his hands and clearly fights a smile at whatever Shiro is saying.

A thick tear plops onto the photo.

Keith is clutching at the album like he never wants to let it go, and Lance's own eyes heat up in response.

"I know he was like a brother to you, Keith," Adam says softly, "When I asked Pidge and Hunk what sort of gift you guys might want, they said you liked to take pictures together. It made me realize you probably didn't have very many of Takashi."

Keith's voice barely gets out of him.

"Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me, Keith -"

Adam ends the half-formed sentence with a grunt as Keith collides with him. Keith's face is pressed into Adam's shoulder and he hugs him tightly. He mumbles, Thank you, again. He gasps, and says it again, and again, and it's muffled and choked and it's so small it's heartbreaking. His whole body trembles, a deep sob shaking out of him. Adam slowly recovers from his surprise, and he lifts his hands to circle Keith's back.

"You're welcome, Keith."

Lance doesn't know how he manages to keep it together.

Losing Shiro was one of the hardest things they've ever gone through - it was even harder on Keith, and Lance knows it was a big part of the reason why Keith started distancing himself more than ever and pulling back from all of them in the beginning, why he didn't want to get close to people. Keith has never really gotten the closer he needs. For all the good he's been able to do for the universe, he has never really had anything that can bring him peace with that.

They still don't have any answers for what happened to Shiro.

They probably never will.

But this is enough.

This is something tangible that Keith can hold on to. This is something he can let go of if he wants, when he's ready, or something that he can carry with him always.

Lance says it this time as Keith pulls back, "Thank you."

Adam nods.

"Take care of each other."

Lance looks at Keith, and they share a smile. Keith rubs the last of his tears from his face with one hand, holding the photo album to his chest. His other hand drops to curl around Lance's, and it is just as comforting as it was the first time.

The rain cascades around them in hues of black and blue.

"I think we can do that," Lance says.

----

The Arizona desert is exactly the same as Keith remembers it.

There are some scraggly trees that have grown, and some bushes that have thickened up. A few rock formations have crumbled. The path Keith used to walk here has long-since disappeared, but he follows the memory of it in the dimming orange light with as much surety as if he'd walked it just yesterday. He kicks a loose stone out of his way. He holds Lance's hand.

The sun sets behind them, pink and gold burning into the fade of dark blue.

Ahead of them, the stars are out.

The pale points of light grow with every second.

Keith doesn't know how Lance managed to time this so perfectly - it was after 10 pm when they left Varadero, and here the sun is just beginning to go down. They wouldn't have made it if they hadn't brought Black. Keith is still a little offended that he wasn't allowed to fly his own Lion, and had to sit behind the pilot seat and promise not to peek.

Amusement bridges the link he still shares with Black, who they left back at the cabin where they're staying. That sensation extends naturally to Lance and comes to light as a faint chuckle.

Keith has already kissed him stupid over it. He never would have guessed that Lance's surprise honeymoon was going to be visiting Keith's favorite spot. There going to spend an entire week here in a small cabin that's about a 30 minute hike from here. Someone bought up the property years ago where Keith's family house used to be, where he built the shack with his bare hands after leaving the Garrison because he had nowhere else to go and something was pulling him out here. He has always felt that pull, even when he was young.

He feels it even stronger now.

Lance squeezes his hand.

"I love you."

Keith glances over his shoulder, smiling.

"I love you, too."

It looks like jackrabbits or some other small animals have dug a warren into the side of the small hill. The place is empty, though, the trails hard to distinguish, so it's obviously fallen out of use. Keith leads Lance up on the other side of the runs, just in case. Lance shrieks when his foot goes through the ground into a shallow hole, anyway, and Keith laughs.

"Rude," Lance huffs. He watches his feet after that.

They climb to the crest of the hill, and Keith drops the bag he's carrying.

The light is fading fast as Keith stomps down an area in the tall, brittle grass so Lance can spread the blanket out across the ground for them to lay on. The temperature drops steadily, moment by moment. By the time they're both settled, huddled close together and catching their breath, there is just a slim line of bright gold sitting low along the horizon. The mountains reach up to silhouette themselves against it. The sky shifts, blazing into pink and rich purple.

Lance plays with the zipper of his coat, pulling it up and down over his chest and leaning forward into Keith's shoulder as they watch the last vestiges of sunlight wink and fade. Somehow, Keith feels even warmer than he was. The thin indigo clouds higher in the atmosphere catch the last bit of color before the world around them goes dark, and Keith releases his breath.

He's seen a hundred sunsets before.

He's dreamed about them during his time in space.

He kind of misses them every now and then, and appreciates the quiet, enthralling beauty of them.

"Your honeymoon out-romanced my proposal, I think," Keith says suddenly.

Lance barks out a laugh that carries off across the naked prairie. He throws his hands, and Keith grins, watching him.

"I want to say, 'Finally!!!!' but I swear, no contest, the proposal was so romantic? I cried. Keith, you literally pretty much took me back to the place where we had our very first date. Do you even remember that? That ridiculously creepy warehouse? The projector?"

"I remember," Keith says, "I didn't - " He laughs, covering his face. "I didn't even think about that."

"Are you serious?"

"No, I - it's you favorite beach. That was all I was thinking."

"I love you," Lance laughs, "I love you so much, Keith."

He puts his arms around Keith's shoulder and pulls him in, pressing his face against Keith's. Keith lifts his hands to grasp Lance's wrists, ducking his face into Lance's arm and breathing in his scent. It's his own coat, a deep red leather with soft lining inside, but Lance's skin is underneath. His embrace is warm, and it is welcoming in the chill creeping up from the earth.

Lance kisses the bolt of his jaw, noses into his hair to kiss behind his ear, and Keith tilts his head, enjoying the gentle affection - until Lance blows a raspberry against his neck.

Keith shouts and tries to shove him away, but Lance clings to him, laughing. He leverages himself on top of Keith until they tumble backwards to the ground, softened by the blanket, and then he uses his weight to keep them down. Keith stops struggling after just a few seconds. Not out of breath. But breathless. Lance's chest pins him down. His breath fans across Keith's cheek. His hands grasp onto Keith's arms until he relents, and then they move to hug up warmly against Keith's ribs.

"We're married," Keith says, staring up at him.

Lance's face is framed by his dark brown hair. His head haloed by every star in the sky. His eyes a bright and penetrating blue, lips parted.

"Yeah," Lance says softly.

He rubs their noses together.

Keith laughs. He slides his hands up Lance's sides and reaches between them to pull down the zipper of his coat so they can be that much closer, the warmth of their bodies seeping through their clothes. He slips his hands inside, flatting his palms over Lance's hips. Lance lifts a hand to touch Keith's face, and his wedding ring glints, caught in the starlight as he brushes Keith's hair out of his face, fingertips dusting Keith's forehead, his cheekbones, the line of his jaw.

The last time Keith was here… he was in a completely different place.

There was this big emptiness inside of him that had been burgeoning out for a long time. It had weighed him down. Made him distant and volatile. All he's ever wanted was to be close to someone. The way he used to be with his dad, the way he was learning to be with Shiro.

All these years of searching, and Keith finally has that.

He has a home.

He has friends, and a family - people who love him, and are going to love him for as long as he's here.

Lance leans down to kiss the corner of Keith's eye. A tear slips out, anyway, and catches on his lips. Keith squeezes them closed. He holds Lance tighter. Lance murmurs, "It's okay, Keith. I got you. I love you," and Keith murmurs all of it back, unafraid. Lance combs his fingers through Keith's hair and gradually works most of it loose from the braid so that it spills out around him, dark against the blanket. Lance's thumb rubs over his cheek and his temple as he presses soft kisses to every inch of Keith that he can reach.

Keith isn't alone.

Neither of them are.

They are never going to be alone, ever again.

fin.