Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I know, buddy, I know.” Keith scratches behind his big dumb dog’s ears, pressing a million kisses to his forehead because he’s got Black to himself for the next day and there’s no one (Shiro) to clown him for it. Kosmo barks excitedly, wagging his floofy tail so fast it beats against the dashboard and system controls. Keith laughs, moving his scratching fingers down the wolf’s head and neck and to his back, where he likes to be scratched best.

“I know you’re hyper, huh?” he coos, blowing a raspberry. “But that’s what you get. You know you always get too excited when you hang out with Lance. You should have stayed with me.”

At the mention of the Red Paladin’s name, Kosmo starts howling, bounding out from Keith’s lap and tumbling to the floor, nails clacking against the metal as he flips around Black’s cockpit.

Keith huffs. “You raise a wolf from a pup, showering him in treats and affection, and you still fall second best to the first guy he meets who teaches him to fetch. Figures.”

It’s ridiculous, is what it is. Two straight years together on the space whale, but Kosmo lays eyes on Lance for one measly second and falls in love. He’s genuinely obsessed with the guy, and it doesn’t help that Lance is unbelievably smug about it, indulging Kosmo’s every whim and burst of affection just to grate on Keith. He has on twelve seperate occasions radioed the Black Lion to talk to Kosmo only, completely ignoring Keith.

“I can’t blame ya,” Keith says quietly. His voice is still a little teasing, still a little exasperated, but even he can hear the gooey fondness in it. “Lance is just that good, huh?”

Kosmo barks again, loud and fast, then flashes as he blips out of existence then back into existence right on Keith’s lap. Keith chokes as 200 pounds of floof is suddenly deposited on his person, but recovers quickly. (Kosmo will never remember that he is no longer a little puppy. Keith is just going to have to get used to having his lungs crushed.)

He starts to stroke Kosmo’s fur again, gently this time, calming him down.

“I should say something,” he says, more to himself than to his dog. “Ugh. I mean, it’s Lance, right? He’s my best friend. He’ll most definitely tease me, but he won’t, like, mock me or anything. He’s good like that. He knows exactly when to be serious, like during that last gala thing we had when we landed on a planet a while back. He just knew I was feeling off, just like that.”

Keith buries his face in Kosmo’s fur, hiding his smile. “He’s just…everything, you know? I’m always thinking about him. I have been for years. Hell, I talked about him so much on that stupid whale that you recognised him before you even met him, buddy. That’s objectively bonkers. But I can’t…” He sighs, leaning back in the pilot seat and staring unseeingly through the windshield. A red dot flashes gently at the bottom corner, but he pays it no mind.

“He’s sweet when no one’s looking. And even when people are looking, sometimes. And I’ll die before I even imply it in his direction, but he’s funny, too. And his fucking brain, dear God, that man could outwit anyone if he was under enough pressure. He saved our asses more than once when we were stumbling our way through this co-leading thing in the beginning. And anyone with eyes can tell that he’s hot.” Keith’s ears burn a little, thinking of the Coalition videos. “Seriously hot. And…leggy.”

He cracks up, embarrassed giggles bubbling up his throat. His next words are muffled by the hand he has pressed to his face. “God, I want him to fuck me up.”

Kosmo raises his head from where it was resting on Keith’s knee, staring at him in what Keith can only assume is judgment.

“Shut up,” Keith says hotly. “You once farted so loud you scared yourself and cried for ten minutes. You don’t get to judge me about being embarrassing.”

Keith is losing it. He is defending his character to a dog. He groans loudly, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should tell him, shouldn’t I,” he mutters. “Just — come out with it. ‘Leandro Esposita-McClain, I am in love with you.’ Straight to the point. Rip off the band-aid.”

Kosmo yips quietly. Keith snorts.

“Yeah, you’re right. That’s crazy. He’s my friend, I don’t want to ruin things. I’ll just suffer in silence the next time he looks at me and the fuckin’ sun bleeds into his eyes and makes them look like golden honey or whatever. Jesus.” He reaches for his book and props it open, muttering to himself. “It’s always the fuckin’ pretty ones that get me, huh?”

Kosmo barks loudly in what can only be agreement, and Keith scoffs, flicking him on the shout. “Yeah, yeah, you lug. Bug off with the teasing and let me read in peace, alright? I’ll tell him someday. He doesn’t need to know now.”

.

.

.

(A beep echoes through the Red Lion’s cockpit as her paladin slams on the ‘call end’ button, eyes wide and chest heaving, having listened curiously when he’d been radioed out of nowhere mid-conversation between the Black Paladin and his dog. And then listened in shock as the Black Paladin had brought up him. Brought up being in love with him, with his heart and his eyes and his legs, apparently.

Red blooms on his cheeks.)

———

Leandro Esposita-McClain, I am in love with you.

Keith’s voice, staticky and muffled, rings through his brain for hours. He barely even moves from his seat, staring into space and trying to remind himself how breathing works.

I am in love with you.

Anyone with eyes can tell that he’s hot.

It’s always the fuckin’ pretty ones that get me.

A confession. Obvious, unmistakable, clear and concise and detailed, even, maybe more words that Lance has ever heard Keith say in one sitting.

Figures, of course, that Lance wasn’t meant to hear it.

The second they land on that night’s rest stop planet, Lance bolts out of his lion, barely remembering to keep the latch open so Kaltenecker can let herself out to graze. He sprints past the Black Lion, who has yet to open her maw, and careens around Blue, barely managing to straighten himself up before he brains himself on her massive paw. He hears her cackling in his head, and doesn’t even bother rolling his eyes. He runs up Yellow’s barely-open hatch and climbs up the stairs on all fours like an animal, tumbling into the cockpit and sprawling in front of Hunk in a heap, panting, suddenness making Hunk yelp.

“Je-sus, Lance,” he scolds, hand pressed to his heart. “You scared me.”

Lance doesn’t say anything, too busy desperately trying to gulp in some air. He’s obviously pretty practiced in cardio, being a paladin and all, but he wouldn’t be surprised to discover that he just broke several Olympic records.

(The breathing struggles may also be from the Keith thing. But that’s embarrassing, so he’s just going to pretend it’s from running.)

“We landed, like, forty seconds ago,” Hunk says after a moment. “Did you fucking teleport here? Is Kosmo around?”

At the mention of the space wolf, Lance wheezes, pressing both hands to his face to attempt to cover it as it flames. It’s no use — he can’t see Hunk through his pressed-shut eyes, but he can feel the wicked grin his best friend is sporting at the mention of Keith-by-proxy.

“I need help,” Lance says quickly, before Hunk can start in with the teasing. There’s no escaping the teasing, exactly, but he doesn’t need to leave any more opportunities.

“Do tell.”

Lance peeks through his fingers. Hunk has arranged his features in a very particular, pinched expression, which Lance knows from years of experience means he is fighting down his commentary with every inch of his strength.

“Keith,” he says hesitantly, “may have just said something along the lines of a confession. To me.” Before Hunk can say anything, Lance rushes to finish: “But I don’t think it was on purpose.”

Hunk exhales for a very long time. “Explain yourself very carefully.”

Lance pulls himself upright, sitting with his back against the wall of the cockpit and his knees pulled under his chin. “So I was just chilling in Red, right,” he starts, picking at his sleeve. “And I get this audio call from Keith, outta nowhere, and before I can say anything he starts talking? But not to me. To Kosmo. And at first I was like, okay. This is a Keith and Kosmo call. Awesome. But then he kept talking to Kosmo only, and I realised he was talking about me, and he said —” suddenly Lance realises he hasn’t taken a breath in God knows how long and inhales a deep, frantic one, flopping out his legs and staring at his friend with wide eyes — “Hunk, he said he was in love with me.”

Hunk’s eyes widen just as big as Lance’s. “Dude!”

“I know!”

“Dude!”

“I know!”

“No, dude!” Hunk insists, gripping his armrests and leaning forward. “This is awesome! This means you can make a move! And I can win a lot of money!” At Lance’s raised eyebrow, he clears his throat. “But, uh, obviously your whole crush thing is priority numero uno. I’m just saying that if you wanted to make some sort of gesture in front of everyone else and in the next week, that would be awesome. For you, of course.”

“Uh-huh.” Lance sighs, dragging his legs back up and hugging his knees, resting his cheek on top of them. “I don’t know. I’m probably not going to do anything about it, really.”

Hunk frowns. “How come?”

“Well, because. It wasn’t a real confession. Maybe it was a prank, or something. I mean, I don’t think Keith’s that mean, but who knows what was really going on? I overheard him say some pretty incriminating stuff, sure, but I don’t know the context. I don’t know the situation. Maybe he was roleplaying. Maybe he was making up scenarios because he was bored. I don’t want to misinterpret things, you know. It could ruin our friendship.”

He’s my friend, I don’t want to ruin things.

Hunk holds up a finger. “Excuse me for a moment.” He stands up and walks calmly out of the cockpit, jogging down the stairs to Yellow’s barracks and storage compartments. Lance tries not to feel too hurt at his best friend’s sudden departure in his greatest time of need.

A few minutes later, Hunk returns, holding his pillow in his hand. Lance tilts his head in confusion — was his butt hurting, or something? He supposes that makes sense. This space road trip has a lot of long stretches, after all. Maybe his butt was so achey that he couldn’t focus on Lance’s tragic situation. Well, Hunk is kind of caked up, but the butt is a muscle, so Lance supposes it can get cramps, too —

Wham!

Hunk clears his throat, brushing imaginary dust off the pillow he just whacked Lance in the face with. Hard! Lance is so shocked he can’t even muster up a single thought, everything going kind of static in his head.

“That,” Hunk says, casually sitting back down in his seat and holding the pillow like he’s prepared to strike again, “was the dumbest thing I have ever heard, and I’m including my own dumbassery in that. I’m including Pidge’s peanut rant in that. You have truly accomplished a feat, my friend.”

“What.”

“I mean, he said it out loud,” Hunk continues. “Out loud, with his mouth, no one making him, he said he was in love with you. Said your full name and everything. ‘Leandro Esposita-McClain, I am in love with you.’ Those were his words And you are sitting on my floor and working yourself into a frenzy.” He tuts. For a brief moment Lance is unsure if Hunk has somehow been replaced with Mrs. Garrett, that’s how much he’s resembling his mother. “What foolishness.”

“I get it,” Lance grumbles, rubbing his face sulkily. “You didn’t have to smack me, you meanie.”

Hunk leans over and kisses Lance forehead with quite a lot of patronization. Lance leans into it anyway.

“I really did.”

“Whatever.”

He stays with Hunk while everyone else unloads, until he hears loud, frantic barking, and a panicked voice screeching after it. Seconds later, there’s a flash of bright light, and Kosmo appears in the Yellow Lion’s cockpit, bounding at Lance with full speed and knocking him right over. Lance laughs wrapping both arms around the big dog as much as he can and squeezing.

“Hell-o, you darling boy!”

Kosmo yips loudly, and Lance doesn’t have time for so much as one more word before his stomach drops, and his vision goes white, and the next thing he knows he’s falling from the sky, blipped out of Yellow’s cockpit. He screeches at the top of his lungs, wondering why the hell Kosmo has teleported him in the air, but before he can hit the ground, a voice calls out “Woah!” and he’s caught by a pair of strong arms.

When he opens his eyes again, having squeezed them shut when he realized he was falling, he locks eyes with Keith. It takes him three seconds too long to realise he’s held in Keith’s arms, bridal-style, and Keith’s face is bright red. He yelps again — nope nope nope nope nope, he is not being cradled to Keith’s chest, not happening — and stuffs a blurry memory of a strong chest and the scent of sweat and smoke and the sound of running footsteps back into the recesses of his mind where it belongs. He twists out of Keith’s grip, or at least tries to, but Keith has a strong hold on him, so when Lance’s squirms he tilts their sight forward —

“Lance, what — quit squirming!”

— but it’s too late, they’re already heading to the ground, and neither has their hands free to break their fall. Just before they hit the strange pink grass, Lance feels Keith’s hand snap over to his head, tucking it towards his neck, instinctively protecting him from getting hurt. They hit the ground with an oof, Lance on his back, Keith crookedly on top of him, face planted directly in the middle of Lance’s chest.

It takes Lance a second to fully comprehend their situation, their position, and when he does he makes this horrible kind of squeaking sound in the back of his throat. Keith makes a similarly embarrassed throaty sound, scrambling to get off of him, but their arms are kind of tangled so he only manages to chuck himself more off balance, just barely catching himself by planting a hand right next to Lance’s face and stopping his forehead millimetres away from Lance’s.

Both of them freeze. Pinned, Lance just stares at the face in front of him (the crooked nose, broken three too many times, the strong brow, dark indigo eyes like none Lance has ever seen before, high cheekbones, flush with humiliation, the new purple scar; every part of his face, every detail, like he’s commuting it to memory, like he’s devouring the image of it after being starved too long). Keith’s lips are parted slightly, and Lance traces the defined cupid’s bow with his eyes, noticing how chapped they are, imagining how rough they would feel.

Anyone with eyes can tell that he’s hot. Seriously hot. And…leggy.

“I think you’re hot, too,” Lance blurts, and then immediately wishes for death. It doesn’t help that he hears both the sound of a camera shutter and several coins changing hands. (And Hunk’s very obvious crow of victory and loud “Thank you, Lance! I’ll give you a percentage for your service!”)

“What,” Keith croaks, which is generally a bad reaction to a confession but makes sense in this circumstance.

Lance clears his throat, still hyper aware of the way Keith’s body is streamlined on top of his, the way one gloved hand is still curved around his neck.

“I heard you,” he clarifies. “In the lion. With Kosmo. You must have butt-dialed me, or something. You said you loved me.”

He sees the exact moment it clicks for Keith, because face begins to actually turn pumice, and Lance can feel the heat pouring off of him. “I must have —” He makes a cut-off, aborted noise and hangs his head, slightly, like if he closes his eyes for a second he can wish away the entire situation.

Which. Fair. Lance can’t blame him.

“I am giving that dog away to a local charity,” he grumbles.

Lance snorts. “As if. You love that dog more than anything. Also, I’ll kill you if you even try.”

Keith glances back up at him, corner of his mouth twitching, and laughter bubbles up out of them at the same time, half-hysterical and half-tense and half-exhilarated and half something Lance can’t name. Two hundred percent intensity. Lance goes hoarse, and Keith loses the ability to hold his own head up, resting his forehead on Lance’s collarbone.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have to tell people you confessed via butt-dial, you goober!”

“You could lie and say I took you on a really romantic first date?” Keith suggests, grinning cheekily.

Lance snorts. “Not on your life.”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, didn’t think so.” He finally climbs off of Lance’s person, offering Lance a hand and pulling them both to their feet. Once Lance is upright, Keith stills, visibly deciding on something, then yanks the hand clutched around Lance’s backwards, making Lance stumbling forward. He steadies him with a hand on his waist, then untangles the other one and rests it on Lance’s cheek. He holds it there for a moment, letting Lance figure out his intentions.

Lance face burns as he understands the implications, what Keith is trying to do. He glances down at Keith’s chapped lips, thinking again of their roughness, imagining the scratch of them against his own, the scratch of the slight stubble around Keith’s chin in the late evening, the tickle of his hair on his cheeks.

“Although this part is kind of smooth,” he admits quietly, eyes half-lidded. He brings a shaking hand up to rest on the one Keith has around his hip, squeezing gently.

Keith’s lips quirk up. “Point for me, then, I guess.” He leans in, no hesitation this time, and presses his mouth to Lance’s; soft, searching, gentle and curious.

Lance melts.

Lance Esposita-McClain, I am in love with you, Keith had said, accidentally.

And I am in love with you, Keith Akira Kogane, Lance thinks, on purpose.