The bleak reality of returning to the Blades soon really sets in for Keith when Shiro pulls him out of a movie night three days before he's supposed to go back.
Keith gets up from the sofa, lifting his feet from Hunk's lap and untangling himself from Lance, who only sends him a worried look of confusion in response.
Kolivan's face on the screen looks the same as always, still stoic, still mostly unreadable.
"It is good to hear that you'll return soon," he says, and Keith is very acutely aware of Shiro hovering right behind him. "There is both a reconnaissance and an infiltration mission waiting for you. Either one requires someone of your skillset."
In the past, when Kolivan said that, it meant that they needed someone who's a good fighter and doesn't care enough for their life to be careful. Keith had built up quite the reputation for that, taking on more dangerous missions every time and acting extremely recklessly.
That's not what he wants to do this time around.
"You can send the details to my datapad," Keith replies, clasping his hands behind his back, straightening up. His spine pops somewhere along his lower back. "I'll get back to you about it."
"Understood."
He holds his breath, eyes mustering Kolivan. The air in the room feels too tense.
"Thank you for your time," he says. That effectively ends the call.
Keith stands in place for a little too long, not moving his limbs in the slightest, staring at the floor in front of him. Thoughts race through his mind at a breakneck speed, possibilities and doubts, sharp enough to hurt. What if he's making the wrong call?
"Are you sure you're ready to go back?" Shiro asks carefully.
Keith hadn't even noticed him coming closer towards him. There's an undertone of pity somewhere in his voice that he really doesn't want to hear, but it's right there, nonetheless.
"Not one bit," Keith says, grimacing and turning to face his brother. "I just– I'm useless to you guys here."
"You're not useless, Keith."
"I just want to help, you know?" He slings his arms around himself, a futile attempt at comfort. "I need to help, and I can't do that if I stay here. I know I'm a good enough fighter to actually change things."
A sad smile spreads over Shiro's face. If Keith didn't know him any better, he'd say Shiro wouldn't let him go. But he does know him better, knows that Shiro will fiercely support him in whatever he decides to do, no matter how stupid he might think the idea is.
Because Shiro trusts him.
And that's a good feeling.
"It's not all you are," Shiro says finally. "You're not some sort of weapon. That's not who you are."
"I know," he answers, lowering his gaze a bit, not quite meeting his eyes anymore. "But I can't just sit by and watch. Not when I know what's happening to people out there."
His brother sighs. "Have you talked to Lance about it?"
Of course he hasn't.
"No," Keith admits, "but I'm sure he knows what's coming."
"He's not going to like it," Shiro says, shrugging. "And for the record, neither do I."
"That's fair, but I won't change my mind now." He's by no means sure if what he's doing is the right way of doing it, but he is sure that his decision is firm.
The past few weeks have really cemented his choice in his head. Every time the team was called for a mission, called down to fight planet-side, or even just a diplomatic meeting, Keith felt a pang of hopelessness rip through his chest. And he can't deal with that feeling anymore. He won't.
"What do you suggest I do, then? Wait another two months? Another two years?" It comes out a lot harsher than he intended. He breathes out, his shoulders slumping. "I can't stay in place forever, hoping that I'll just magically fully recover."
"Keith…" Shiro begins, evidently searching for the right words to say.
Keith is well aware that Shiro has had more of an eye on him than usual. And he knows that Shiro has, on more than one occasion, seen how Keith had to pull himself out of the briefing room because his hands wouldn't stop shaking or how he'd often frequent the training grounds in the middle of the night only to fall asleep at the kitchen table during lunch. He's seen the ever so slight disconnect between Keith looking in the mirror and recognising himself, and he's seen the way that Keith's hand will come to rest on his ribs sometimes, rather panicked, just to make sure they'll hold steady, afraid of them breaking right beneath his fingers.
Apart from that, Keith is doing better, he thinks.
Sometimes a quivering wave of pain will rip through him, emanating from his shoulder, nearly bringing him to his knees in agony, even though the readings show it's completely fine and healed. Some days the pain is just there, steadily reminding him of the injuries that were once there. Keith suspects that has to do with the pod's inability to heal scar tissue and the botched healing process that's mostly his own fault.
All in all though, he thinks it's things that he can learn how to deal with – things that he's already dealing with.
Once he settles into a new routine and has things to do, it's going to get better. He knows this. He's sure of it.
"If I realize I can't handle it, I'll come back, yeah? If it's too much, I'll take my time," Keith cuts Shiro off, hoping to reassure not only him, but also himself with it. "And besides, I'll be contacting you guys as much as possible this time. I won't be alone."
Shiro shakes his head, putting his hands on hips before looking back up at him. "You're too stubborn," he settles on, no heat behind the words.
"You raised me to be like this," Keith answers, a smile tugging at his lips. "Shouldn't have told me you trusted my judgment."
From the console, Keith can hear his datapad vibrate, probably having received the mission briefings from Kolivan.
"I raised you to be too good of a man and now I'm regretting it," Shiro smiles at him. "But honestly, Keith… Just take good care of yourself this time, alright?"
With a heavy heart, Keith nods. "I will."
Shiro's expression softens even further, the furrow of his brow smoothing out and he spreads his arms, waving his hand at Keith. "Come on," he says, and Keith really doesn't have to think twice.
He lets himself fall into Shiro's arms, hugging back just as tightly.
"I promise I'll take care this time." It's barely above a whisper, but with the way that Shiro's arms securely wrap around him, he knows it was heard and understood.
The both of them have never been much for physical affection, Shiro on bad days even less than Keith, but this feels very much like coming home after a long day.
They don't let go for a while.
It's the night before he has to leave that Keith gets into the Blade's formal wear for the first time in his life.
They're invited to a gala in their honor tonight, both Voltron and the Blade, on a planet called Qualin, that got liberated through them about half a year ago. Keith was there when it happened, but he hadn't known that Voltron had been there at the same time as him, fighting on the exact other side of the planet. It's kind of ironic, really.
Today is, unfortunately, also one of the days where his shoulder is giving him more trouble than usual. He's come to find out that keeping it mostly still helps with the pain – at least a bit. He grits his teeth and breathes through it while he gets dressed.
The formal garb of the Blades is a new addition to Keith's wardrobe, usually having avoided going to balls and galas like they carry the plague. It's the same colors as his usual uniform, grays, blacks, darker blues and purple highlights, only instead of armor above the undersuit, he's wearing an open, billowing blouse, wide at the arms and tight around his wrists. There's sashes layered over his shoulders, resembling almost some sort of cape, and more sashes around his hips, with flowing pants covering the rest of him. The outfit is far from practical to fight in, but the sashes can be taken off fast enough, just a firm tug is enough to remove them and while they're on, they cover the knife tucked into the waistband of his pants.
Essentially, it's the same as the Blade's regular uniform, just wide and flowing where it usually is tight and made of armor.
It is meant to convey trust that he won't be fighting while he's at the function – although if bad comes to worse, he'll be more than able to defend himself and the people around him.
When the knock on his door comes, he's still looking at his form in the mirror, turning and observing. He hears the telltale whoosh of the door opening, revealing Lance, dressed equally as nice, standing right behind it.
For a moment, Keith just stares at him, letting his eyes wander, taking in the way he looks in what most likely is the Altean equivalent to formal wear. It looks like a more elaborate version of Coran's usual suit, with more detailing, cutting off at the shoulders, but with matching gloves coming up to the middle of his biceps. An ocean blue cape rests on Lance's left shoulder, the fabric intricately embroidered with golden stitching, coming down to his thighs.
And Lance looks so good. It's so fucking unfair.
"Holy shit," Lance says, shamelessly checking Keith out. Because, while Keith at least tried to be somewhat subtle about it, like any decent person would, Lance doesn't even try to hide the way his eyes drink him in. "Yeah, no. I don't think you can go outside like this."
"What?" Keith asks, smirking, moving away from the mirror and towards the other man.
"Everyone's gonna want a piece of you, I don't have enough arms to fend everyone off at the same time."
He hums. "Guess you'll just have to get in line."
Lance crowds into Keith's space, cocking his head to the side. "I would never," he says.
His hand comes up to cradle Keith's face, long fingers resting against his cheek. They're so warm on his skin.
"Oh, I think you'd do plenty of things for me," Keith answers, looking up at Lance through his lashes. Confidence comes easy when Lance flirts with him. It's the easiest thing in the world then, suddenly.
"True, and so would you."
"True."
And Lance leans forward and kisses him. Softly and slowly moving his lips against Keith's and Keith lets him in, his hands coming to rest on Lance's biceps. No matter what, he doesn't think he'll ever get tired of this – the kissing of course, but also feeling Lance's muscles move underneath his skin, tensing and flowing with his movements.
They've gotten a lot better at this, at the whole casual intimacy thing. In the beginning, Keith'd thought he was a hopeless case, sometimes physically recoiling when Lance touched him without a warning, but he's come to crave it like it's air, like it's the only thing he needs to survive.
Keith breaks the kiss first, his shoulder dutifully reminding him of its presence through a dull ache, flaring as he rotates the joint, trying to reach up to touch Lance's face. He winces slightly.
But Lance might be the most perceptive person in the world, so of course he notices. "Shoulder giving you trouble?"
"Just a little," he answers semi-truthfully.
Holding his hand out for Keith to take it, he asks, "would you rather stay in tonight?"
In lieu of answering, he reaches for Lance's hand and shakes his head. They're already late, and it's the last night he has with Voltron before he goes back – he should at least be at the gala for a few hours.
The planet's capital is near unrecognizable as they make their way through the streets to the hall that the gala is being hosted in.
Last time Keith was here, the streets were covered in rubble from broken buildings and everything laid under a thick blanket of dust and debris. Now, the rebuilding efforts seem to have at least worked in the inner circle of the capital, because everything looks new and as it should again.
The buildings shine, blue lights emanating from the inside, behind large window panes, casting their glow onto the streets, illuminating the lush greenery along the sides of it.
As they draw closer to the hall, the noise gets louder and the crowd gets bigger. It seems like there's an endless stream of people attending.
Moving through a crowd like this is still a source of anxiety for Keith, serving to put him on edge. He tightens his grip on Lance's hand and lets himself be guided forward, letting him do the work of pathing a way for them through the masses.
When they arrive an hour late, the party is already in full swing. They've probably missed the opening speech, but Keith can't bring himself to be even slightly saddened by that. People are dancing, enjoying themselves, standing to the sides of the banquet, eating and drinking.
The hall is impossibly large to fit so many of them, with high glass ceilings that show off the stars in the clear night sky above.
Next to him, Lance looks equally as taken aback as Keith does by the sheer size of it all.
"This is so nice," he says, eyes wandering over the crowd, taking in the colorful fabrics of everyone's dresses, gleaming in the golden light from the large chandeliers that hang from the ceiling. "We should probably find the others though. If we miss the actual ceremony, they'll probably kill us."
Finding the others doesn't prove to be much of a challenge, they're standing as a group, safe for Allura and Coran, near the buffet, engaged in heated conversation with each other.
"It's, like, an insane safety risk, Pidge," they hear Hunk's voice carry over to them.
"I'm sure they knew what they were doing with that," Shiro replies in what's probably his most soothing tone of voice.
Pidge sighs, throwing their head back. "The ceiling is circa one million meters thick, it'll hold."
Lance and Keith exchange an amused look before stepping into their circle, making their presence known.
"Oh, thank god. Lance, Keith, tell Hunk that the chandeliers are going to hold and that they won't fall on him during the ceremony," Pidge says, motioning to the stage up front. Up on the stage sits a podium and three meters above it hangs the largest of all the chandeliers, fixed to the glass ceiling.
"Of course it'll hold," Lance answers at the same time Keith says, "uh, maybe?"
"You're not helping," Pidge warns and rolls their eyes. "Hunk, I swear on Lance's life–"
"Hey!"
"They will hold."
"You're a terrible friend, Pidge."
"And you're super late," they remind him, grinning. "I don't even want to know why."
"It takes a lot of time to look this good, but you wouldn't know that." Lance sticks his tongue out, like any self respecting, grown man would, and pouts, turning away from them.
Pidge's eyes flicker between him and Keith, their look contorting into one of obvious disgust. "Yeah, I'm sure," they answer, making a show of shuddering.
Oh, Keith gets it.
Yeah, alright.
"We weren't–" he tries, but Pidge waves him off.
"Don't wanna know."
"Guys, can we stop talking about our friends' sex lives and talk about the actual problem at hand?" Hunk interrupts their stint, his eyes still trained to the chandelier. "I'm not planning on dying tonight."
The chandelier, despite Hunk's, in Keith's opinion valid, concerns, holds throughout the entire ceremony and beyond.
It goes by in a blur. They go up on stage, Keith separately from Voltron, and receive a small medal of honor pinned to their chests as a thank you for their aid in liberating the planet. Speeches are made, glasses filled with Nunvil are lifted in toasts and Keith feels it all passing him by.
Before he knows it, he's standing at the bar, drinking water, because the thought of manually numbing his senses and making himself less alert ties his stomach into knots. Allura had briefly kept him company, thankful for a brief respite before being pulled away again by someone who's probably an important part of the alliance, and now he's just left looking at everyone around him.
So far, he'd managed to worm himself out of every conversation pretty well, with people being more interested in speaking to the paladins rather than to a Blade.
One of the scientists managed to get a hold on Hunk and Pidge, pulling them aside to go over a hypothesis he'd been trying to test ever since the capital has started being rebuilt, and Lance is on the other side of the bar, surrounded by a bunch of Qualians watching him with rapt fascination.
They're all hanging on to his every word, laughing at every joke he makes, desperately wanting just the tiniest bit of his attention or whatever he's willing to give them. Lance has always pulled people in, regardless of if it's actually his intention, and that hasn't changed – even though he has, harder around the edges now, not the same careless kid he used to be, but there's still his inescapable gravity.
Lance is like the sun, and it's easy to move around him, to stay in his pull. Keith feels nothing but pure ecstasy at the fact that he gets to experience him without burning up in the heat that his smile holds.
He watches as Lance leans forward, letting one of the taller Qualians whisper something in his ear. He's nodding, attentively listening to whatever's being said to him. The alien presses something into Lance's palms, closing his hands around Lance's, shaking his head.
Keith can't tear his eyes away, feeling like he's intruding on something, but Lance looks at him from where he's talking and his face visibly lights up.
A moment passes, with their eyes locked to each other, where Keith can't control his own muscles anymore, smiling so hard that his eyes almost squeeze shut and he cannot believe that he doesn't have to hold all of it back anymore.
Lance bids his goodbyes to the group around him, bowing profusely, before making his way over to Keith.
"What's a handsome guy like you doing all alone at a place like this?" he asks, playful lilt to his voice. Lance leans his weight against the bar, holding himself up on his elbows.
Heat rushes to Keith's cheeks, but he's doing his best not to sputter. Two can play this game.
"Waiting for my boyfriend to return from his escapades," he says, smirking.
It's a surefire win, because Lance does a double take, a deep red spreading high on his cheekbones and the tips of his ears.
"Boyfriend, huh?" He grins, cheeks dimpling. "Guess you're off the market then?"
"Afraid so."
"Bummer," Lance laments, taking a sip from his glass. "I was going to ask you for a dance."
Thing is, Keith doesn't know how to dance. Hasn't done it, ever, in his life. He would be fine with keeping it that way, if he's sticking to spending time with himself at events. Just now, he's with Lance, and Lance loves to have fun at parties, loves being the light of every event he goes to. This, in turn, means that Keith is forever forced to come along and enjoy himself too. There are probably much worse things than that, though.
"Not sure my boyfriend would approve of that," he answers, leaning in closer.
Lance laughs. "Do you need your boyfriend's approval for everything?"
"Nope. But I know he wouldn't want some stranger to teach me how to dance." He watches Lance's eyes widen at that, glinting at the prospect. "Especially if that stranger is a terrible flirt."
"Well, I don't see him anywhere here." Lance pushes himself off the bar, setting his glass down. He turns to face Keith, bowing lightly and extending his hand towards him. "Do you?"
Keith takes his hand, unable to wipe that stupid smile off of his face. "I don't – he must still be away."
"Good, I'll keep an eye out for him." And then, Keith's being pulled into the middle of the dancefloor.
Dancing with Lance turns out to be exhausting and insanely fun. The music is upbeat and fast, and so are their movements. Lance is leading him easily, while Keith tries to keep up by mirroring his steps and using most of his concentration to not step on Lance's feet. It takes him a while, but he eventually figures it out, even being able to look away from the floor for a few moments at a time.
Before he knows it, Lance successfully maneuvers him into a twirl and Keith spins with it, feeling the fabric of his sashes flutter around him. His shoulder protests weakly against the movement, but he doesn't hesitate in his steps.
They end up really in tune with each other's movements, falling into a steady rhythm, while they dance as if they're the only people on this dancefloor.
Lance is laughing and so is Keith, focussed only on the way that the golden light of the chandeliers reflects in Lance's blue eyes, how it makes his skin shine, making it look like he's positively glowing from the inside.
Two songs later, the music slows down, and Lance strikes up a slow Waltz, counting the steps out loud for Keith to join him. Lance's hand is warm in his own and against his back, holding and guiding him through it.
"I'm going back tomorrow," Keith says then, because he's not sure when else to bring it up and right now, it feels like the right time to do it.
Lance doesn't falter in his steps. "I know," he answers. "The million calls you had with Kolivan the past two days were obvious enough."
"It's just a week," Keith continues, looking over Lance's shoulder into the colorful crowd dancing around the two of them. "Simple recon."
"Do you think you're ready for that yet?" The question holds no judgment, not one bit.
Keith thinks for a moment. "I want to be."
"Okay," Lance says, leaning back to look at Keith. "I trust you."
"Thank you."
"Just call every once in a while, yeah? And if I catch wind of you being reckless again, I'll come over there myself and kick your ass."
"That sounds like a plan."
The song fades out and Keith feels like a weight has been lifted off of his chest. Lance untangles himself from him, but doesn't let go of his hand.
"Can I show you something?" he asks, bouncing on his toes in excitement.
As if Keith could say no to that.
Lance pulls him towards the stage, making a sharp right turn right in front of it, ducking past thick curtains and entering a room that Keith would describe as a backstage area. They're also more than likely not allowed to be here.
He wants to voice that concern, but Lance shushes him by lifting his finger against his lips.
They sneak further, looking before rounding any corner if there's someone there.
It takes three more turns before Lance spots someone and pulls Keith into an open door to the side of the hallway they're in. The door leads to a cleaning supply closet that smells terribly like disinfectant, but Keith can't focus too much on it, because it's a tight fit, with him being pressed chest to chest with Lance and he's hyper aware of every single spot in which their bodies touch. If this had happened, say, a year or two earlier, Keith would've had to train with the Gladiator at the highest level for at least eight hours to calm down from it.
He bridges the small distance between them by kissing Lance. Just because he can. And of course, because he definitely wouldn't mind taking things further in here.
Lance laughs into the kiss before breaking it, holding his ear against the closed door, scrunching his face up in concentration.
"As much as I love being in here with you," he starts, before pushing down the door handle again, "what I want to show you is definitely worth waiting just a little bit longer."
Keith jokingly rolls his eyes. He'll survive.
They walk for another five minutes, through hallway after hallway, and Keith is just starting to think that Lance may have messed up the directions, when they stop in front of a large door made of stained glass, red and green light refracting onto the floor in front of them.
Lance unlocks the door with a small key, god knows where he got that from, and pushes the door open.
In front of them is the most beautiful garden Keith has ever seen in his life.
They're inside a greenhouse, the walls entirely made from colorful glass, going up into a dome shaped ceiling above them. The planet's two moons and blazing stars light up the night sky, their glow reflecting into the greenhouse.
Most notably, the garden itself seems to glow, leaves having blue glowing marks on them, the flowers lighting up the edges of the wooden path through them. The warm, summer evening-adjacent air is buzzing with fireflies, or at least the Qualian equivalent of it, their wings shining a bright purple when they fly.
Keith has never seen anything like this in all his time in space. He can't stop looking, taking everything in, trying to commit it to memory as much as possible.
Lance moves further into the garden, hands gliding over the stems of trees and stray leaves that reach down to him, lighting up as the pads of his fingers come into contact with them.
Keith follows suit, his fingers tracing the same trail Lance's did by going along the still glowing path.
They eventually reach a small clearing, right underneath the center of the dome.
Craning his head, Keith latches onto the sight, turning, looking, moving, feeling his chest swell with it all.
His eyes ultimately land on Lance again, and everything zeroes in on him. It's like the world fades away around them.
He wants it all. Everything and all. He wants everything that Lance can give him. He can't imagine a world where he doesn't want it all.
Here, at the center of the garden, right beneath the middle of the dome, moons and stars above him, glittering lights below him, he feels like he has the entirety of the universe at his fingertips, like he's melting into it. His ribcage threatens to open up, the soft bones of his ribs splaying apart, and letting the universe into his core, into the very making of his being. And it's all tying back to Lance, somehow.
Lance, who's standing across from him, eyes alight with wonder as he watches the fireflies float in the air in front of him. The dim purple light feathers over his features, softening them out, reflecting in his eyes.
Keith feels breathless.
"I love you," he says, like it's the easiest thing in the world.
The corners of Lance's mouth tilt upwards, cheeks dimpling, and he's slowly turning his head towards Keith again.
Between them, the air feels electric, singing and alive with energy.
Soft laughter bubbles from Lance's chest. "Oh, I know," he answers.
He doesn't know which one of them moves first, but they crash into each other once again, moving against one another in a scramble of touching as much as they can. The kiss is harsher than any they've shared in the past two months, more heat and desperation behind it.
And Keith's not above admitting desperation, really. He wants Lance, as much and as fast as possible. It's been more than long enough.
They flow against each other, neither of them willing to back down first. Eventually Lance's hands land in Keith's hair, pulling gently, and Keith moves with it, arching into it, while Lance's mouth lands on his exposed neck, sucking at a sensitive spot just below his jawline. He gasps at the contact and feels Lance's self-satisfied chuckle against his skin.
"We really shouldn't be doing this here," Lance mumbles after kissing Keith's collarbones, one of his hands moving down to his lower back. "Really not."
"Like I give a shit," Keith answers, closing his eyes, leaning into the touch, feeling himself growing more and more impatient.
"If we defile this place they might actually have us executed, and I'm not even joking about that." Lance breaks the contact then, taking a step back.
Keith gathers himself, or at least he tries to, as he sees Lance clumsily adjusting his pant leg. "Serves you right," he laughs.
"Shut up. You're, like, way too hot for your own good."
"And you're an idiot. Why'd they give you a key for this in the first place?" Keith asks, already moving towards the door again. Because while the garden is beautiful, there are other things he wants to see much more urgently right now.
"I asked for the most romantic spot they knew and this old guy just gave me his key and told me to bring it back later," Lance explains, falling into step alongside him. "I wanted to do the whole romantic confession thing before you're leaving, tell you how much I love you, all that jazz. I had a whole speech planned."
Keith blinks, surprised.
"Yeah, you stole my thunder, kind of."
"Okay," Keith answers and stops in his tracks. They're both standing at the end of the wooden path, greenery hanging over their heads and flowerbeds glowing near their feet. "Then do it now."
"What?" Lance exclaims. "I can't just do that now! The moment has to be right and everything."
"Do it."
"Nope, never. Missed your chance, buddy."
"Don't ever call me buddy again, you just had your tongue down my throat."
"Weird thing to be stingy about, but sure, if that's–"
"Shut up," Keith cuts him off, finally.
They look at each other, Lance's mouth curls up into this stupidly attractive half-smirk, and Keith maybe has an idea.
"You love me. True or untrue?" he asks, eyes intently mustering Lance's face.
Lance doesn't hesitate for a second. "True, true, a million times true. Yes, Keith, I love you."
His heart might burst with how hard it's beating.
"You love me, too. True or untrue?" Lance poses the question right back.
"I literally just told– Fuck, Lance, of course. True."
"Good. Then let's get the hell out of here."
They run down the hallways, not really caring too much if anyone sees them, and wind up back in the hall where the main event is being held.
Their first stop is giving the old Qualian his key back and thanking him, the second stop is notifying their team that they're leaving already.
"You know, since Keith is going on his first mission again, he should at least get a full night's sleep," Lance lies, gesturing with his hands.
Pidge and Hunk both eye them doubtfully, but ultimately decide to come along, too tired to really keep themselves engaged in conversation with anyone here.
Allura and Shiro both stay, still somehow willing to be a part of the gala, and Coran is somewhere on the other side of the hall, charming the hell out of the musicians.
It's a fun way back between the four of them. This time, instead of having to walk, they manage to snag one of the shuttles back to the castle. Tightly squeezed into the row of three seats in the back, Pidge ends up on Keith's lap, their head bumping against the ceiling, and Lance forfeits his dignity and takes the middle seat.
Keith can't help the smile on his face as they talk about everything and at the same time nothing at all.
Bidding their goodnights as soon as they get to the castle, Lance and Keith have to really pull themselves together to not break into a full-on sprint while they're still in sight of their friends. That would be a whole different level of awful. And of course, something that they would hold over their heads for the rest of their lives.
Keith impatiently punches in the code to Lance's room, and as soon as the door slides shut behind them, Lance locks it with one hand while pushing Keith against the cold metal with his other hand.
They don't even bother turning the light on, the dim blue glow of the walls illuminating enough to see each other and what they're doing.
"Fucking finally," Lance breathes before kissing Keith with all he has, fingers already fumbling at the blue and purple sashes around his hips.
Keith kisses back, helping him undo the fabrics and firmly tugging his own cape off, before doing the same thing to Lance. "So much for being eager," he laughs.
The fabrics fall to the floor at their feet, but just the capes and sashes aren't really enough. Lance yanks at Keith's blouse, only breaking the kiss to pull it over his head, and then breaking it again so Keith can open up the laces of his boots and get them off. Without his shoes on, he's noticeably smaller than Lance, who's unfortunately still fully dressed.
"Take that off," Keith commands, looking up at the other man, feeling more and more like his patience is wearing thinner with every second that he doesn't feel Lance's skin underneath his fingers.
Because he's nothing if not fair, Keith unzips his own undersuit, rolling it down to just beneath the waistband of his boxers. He would've done more, but he can't wait any fucking longer.
With a little more force than necessary, he moves away from the metal door, capturing Lance's lips with his own and pushing him towards the bed. They fall onto the mattress, Keith on top of Lance, keeping him in place by straddling his hips and kissing him so hard and deeply that he doesn't even stand a chance at catching his breath.
Lance bucks his hips up, catching Keith by surprise with just how hard he already is against his thighs. Instead of commenting on it, Keith decides to run his hand down Lance's toned chest, lightly grazing the skin there, before his fingers dip below the waistband of his boxers and wrap around his dick. His palm is dry against the slight slickness of the pre-come that's already leaking from Lance.
He sucks in a sharp breath, mouth going slack against Keith's, as he applies just the tiniest bit of pressure with his hand, pumping him purposefully slow. Keith would positively lose his mind if Lance were to go at this pace with him – he'd probably die.
Watching Lance whine and writhe below him really does it for him, Keith decides. It's incredibly fun to see how he reacts to different speeds and movements, or how he squirms, whimpering, when Keith presses his thumb against the head of Lance's dick. God, he could do this forever.
Lance already looks like a mess, his brows scrunched up, deep red painting his cheeks and sweat gathering on his face and chest. It's a sight to behold.
Just when Keith thinks that he might actually just keep torturing Lance like this, the other man's trembling hand closes around his wrist, maneuvering it off of him. "Too close," he mumbles, a blissed out smile tugging on his lips.
"Get better at holding off then," Keith answers, smirking.
Of course, Lance rises to the challenge. "You sure you want that?" He doesn't know what he expected.
His dick, like a traitor, twitches at his tone of voice. "Sure, why not? See if you can handle it."
Keith lifts himself off of Lance in favor of taking off the rest of his suit and his underwear, kicking it to the side, barely having time to feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable, because Lance is doing the same thing, shucking off every last bit of fabric.
Lance pulls him back onto his lap with a firm grip, cupping Keith's face with one hand and going back to right where they left off, with just one minor change.
The slender fingers of Lance' other hand wrap around Keith's dick this time, the sensation enough to send a jolt down his spine, causing his back to arch, his chest pressing against Lance's. But Lance doesn't stop there. He gives Keith a few pumps before shifting his hips, and pressing their dicks together, his hand wrapping around them both at the same time.
It's already so much and Keith thinks might die a horrific death at the hands of Lance.
His forehead falls against Lance's, both of them gasping in tandem with the speed of his hand, Keith desperately trying to suppress the breathy moans that threaten to fall from his lips. He's not going to give him that satisfaction just yet.
"D'you have condoms and lube?" he asks, causing Lance to stop in his movements and pull his hand back. "I didn't say you should stop doing that," he adds on, pushing his hair out of his face. Some of the strands had gotten stuck on the damp skin around his mouth and forehead.
"Give me a second," Lance answers, leaning towards the nightstand, opening all three drawers, shuffling through the many things in them. "Always so impatient."
The lube is cold against his fingers as Keith reaches around himself with his left hand, not trusting his right shoulder to hold up through that kind of movement today. Lance is busying himself with putting on a condom, too caught up in it to see what Keith is doing, until he inhales sharply, trying to relax the tight ring of muscle of his rim around his own pointer finger.
"Oh fuck," Lance gasps, and Keith wishes he could see the expression on his face, but his eyes are screwed shut tightly, using all of his concentration on forcing himself to relax. He's still kneeling with one leg to either side of Lance's thighs, the position not really being the easiest one to open himself up in, but he'll take whatever he can get.
After blowing out another breath, he adds another finger, tensing at the intrusion. He pries his eyes open carefully, looking down at Lance, half-lidded, and wonders how the hell he's going to ever fit all of that. He's not entirely sure yet if he's too happy about it, but Lance is most definitely bigger than average. Keith keeps his mouth shut about it though, because if it doesn't fit, Lance is never going to let him live that down.
A hand comes up to Keith's ass, just before another finger, decidedly not his own, pushes into him.
Keith's gaze snaps up to Lance's face as he gasps – and honestly, Lance looks like he's having a religious experience right now.
Lance carefully starts to move his hand, very slowly pumping in and out of Keith at a different speed than Keith is moving with his own hand.
"Shit," Keith curses, letting his head fall backwards and closing his eyes again as Lance adds a second finger. He slowly lifts his hips away from Lance's thighs, before pushing back down against both their hands, their fingers sinking deeper into him. It feels so fucking good, he can't really help the noises that escape him.
A few tentative movements of his hips later, Keith thinks, or rather hopes, he might be ready.
"Okay, fuck, I'm good," he says, his voice gravelly in his throat. Slowly, he removes his fingers, wiping the excess lube off on his thigh.
Lance pulls his fingers out, too, wrapping a strong arm around him and maneuvering him flat on his back onto the mattress. He doesn't even want to think about how much strength Lance holds in his body for him to accomplish that without any assistance from Keith just now.
"You alright with this?" Lance asks from where he's kneeling between Keith's legs.
Keith pushes himself up on his left elbow to look at him. "What? Are you scared you won't last?"
"No, dumbass, I'm practicing something called enthusiastic consent." Lance shoves against Keith's leg. "So, are you cool with this?"
Keith sighs. "Yes, Lance. Very much so," he answers. "Also, if you're not fucking me within the next two minutes, I will actually leave the room and do it myself."
"You wouldn't dare."
"You want to find out?"
"No, jeez," Lance says, pushing himself up. "You're the worst person alive, I think."
Keith grins. "Just trying to give you a run for your money."
Lance's right hand is firmly planted on the underside of his thigh, forcing it against his stomach, effectively folding him in half.
He doesn't even have the time to feel exposed underneath Lance's gaze, doesn't even have the chance to admit to himself how trusting and open he's being right now. He's thrilled, positively bursting at the seams with excitement for whatever Lance plans next.
And Lance cautiously positions himself, the new lube cold against his skin, and pushes in, drawing a low groan from Keith. He leans more of his weight onto his hand and slowly, slowly presses his hips forward. Keith breathes through it, curling his fingers against Lance's shoulders, because it somehow still hurts, but he wants, no, needs Lance to keep going. His left hand scrambles, sliding down his toned arms to eventually hold on to Lance's lower back, pulling him in.
"Fuck, Keith," Lance gasps. "You feel so good." He sinks in deeper, agonizingly slow.
The sensation feels new and incredibly intense, nearly overwhelming his other senses. It's all he can feel, all he can focus on. And as he urges Lance deeper, he thinks he might need a break.
"Lance, fuck, wait," Keith says, clenching his free hand around Lance's wrist, gripping as hard as he can. "Don't you dare move."
"Oh?" Lance grins. "What if I do?"
"I'll break up with you," he answers, the leg that's not pressed against his chest wrapping around Lance's thighs, "or something. I'll leave. I mean it this time."
It's an empty threat, but it seems to work well enough, because Lance obliges, pressing his lips together, and Keith watches him tremble, watches him shake with how desperately he's trying to not sink further into him. And truly, just watching him try genuinely delights Keith, thinking that he should maybe, in the future, see how much he can actually exploit that.
He breathes in deeply, forcing himself to relax around Lance.
Tentatively, he nods his head, gritting his teeth, giving him the signal to keep going. All he wants is more, more, more and Lance, Lance, Lance. And Lance moves, giving him exactly what he asks for.
God, Lance is fully inside him. The thought alone is enough to make his dick twitch, but having it here, Lance breathing hard, his grip bruising on his leg, on full display? It's insanity to think that he could've had this years ago. All these years of tension could've just easily been resolved. Just like that.
"What are you waiting for?" Keith asks then, voice a lot more confident than he feels. "Fuck me."
Lance gasps, his eyes widening, but he pulls his hips back nonetheless. He carefully adjusts his position, leaning forward, using his now free left hand to hold himself up, gripping the bed sheets next to Keith's face.
Keith's breath stutters when Lance pushes back into him.
"Do you– ah," Lance starts as he picks up speed, hips gyrating, pushing a little deeper every time. "Do you have any idea how long I've been wanting to do this?"
A throaty chuckle escapes Keith. "Not long enough, apparently."
Taking on the challenge, Lance's hand presses down harder on Keith's leg, giving him easier access, and he pulls out as far as he can, before snapping his hips forward and punching a whimper out of Keith as his dick moves against his prostate.
Lance's face genuinely lights up as he puts two and two together. He's the worst and definitely revelling in this way too much.
Keith's mouth falls open, once again going slack. Short, breathy gasps fall from his lips with every snap of Lance's hips. His back wants to arch upwards, squirming, but Lance is firmly holding him down, keeping him in place as he relentlessly fucks into him.
Finally, he's getting used to the stretch of Lance inside him, his body putting up less resistance and just letting himself flow with it, moving his hips against Lance's with every thrust, going deeper and harder.
If this keeps up, he's definitely not going to last very long.
"Remember when we were on Gabrion?" Lance asks. "When you had to wear that sheer suit?"
For the life of him, Keith can't figure out how Lance is still talking. He feels like he's on fire, all his nerves alight like live wire and it's all pointing back to where Lance is fucking in and out of him.
"Or when we got so drunk on Nak'da that we fell asleep on the beach together?"
Lance's dick slams against his prostate again, hard, and Keith actually moans at the sensation, loud and broken and he'd be so embarrassed if it didn't feel this good. He angles his hips, aiming for the same spot again and again, Lance more than proving himself as capable of turning Keith into a right mess.
Dimly, somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers that Lance definitely has experience with this, maybe even more so than Keith. He can't help the small pang of jealousy in his chest.
"And that time–"
"Are you talking so you won't come first?" Keith asks, interrupting him, barely managing to string the sentence together. The silence he receives in response makes him laugh.
Instead of saying anything about it, Lance maneuvers Keith's right leg over his shoulder, leaning into it more and wraps his hand around Keith's neglected dick.
"Fuck," he breathes, the sensation quickly becoming too much. The movements of Lance's hand mirror those of his hips with near perfect accuracy. "Oh, god."
"Wanna make you come first," Lance says, stilling for a second. He adjusts his position, leaning down to kiss him for just a few moments.
That's, uh, new territory for Keith. It's so intimate, and he doesn't think any of his past hookups have ever kissed him while still inside him, or vice versa for that matter. He never wants to stop doing this, he decides.
He catches his breath after Lance pulls back, trying to relax his overwrought muscles around the other man. "I'd like to see you try," he answers, overly confident and ecstatic.
A wicked grin flashes over Lance's face and Keith blanches. Maybe he said the wrong thing.
Without warning, Lance slams into him again, his hand tightening around his leaking dick, sliding up and down around him. He opts for hard and powerful thrusts now, instead of short staccato bursts and it punches the air out of Keith's lungs with a vengeance.
Lance fucks into him like he means it.
A strangled sound escapes him and Keith has to slap his own hand over his mouth to keep himself from waking the entire castle up. His other hand flies up to the nape of Lance's neck, his fist curling up into the hair there, pulling hard.
Lance gasps in tandem with him, easily just as wrapped up in the sensation as Keith is. "You– You feel so fucking good."
He hazily thanks whatever higher power above for the insane stamina that Lance has from training so much.
"You– h-ha– so good–"
Lance is starting to sound more and more incoherent, getting carried away as he keeps steadily but fiercely fucking into Keith.
White hot heat starts to unfurl in his gut, the pleasure starts to build more and more. And fuck, he really doesn't want to come yet, he wants to stay like this forever, trapped underneath Lance's body that doesn't let up on him.
But it's all coming together. Lance's voice, breathless and whiny, whispering near incomprehensible praise into his ear, his hand frantically pumping his dick, squeezing just the right amount, Lance's cock slamming in and out of him, hitting his spot perfectly with almost every single thrust and the sound of their sweaty skin slapping against each other. It's all adding to the bursts of pleasure he's feeling.
"Oh, fuck," Keith whines, squeezing his eyes shut, his world zeroing in on the feeling. His breathing speeds up, his muscles clench, body coiling and coiling and coiling up. "Lance." His voice breaks. "I'm going to– fuck."
The orgasm crashes through him in waves and Lance fucks him right through it, keeping his hand pumping at a steady pace. He feels the warmth of his own come on his chest, but he's only barely noticing it because Lance just keeps going.
For about thirty seconds, he's having the most mind-blowing orgasm of his life, and then it very quickly crosses into overstimulation.
"Think you can do that again?" Lance asks between breaths, his chest heaving, his pace not letting up.
Really, Keith wants to answer, but he can't find the words, couldn't say them even if he did. "Lance." That works, too. Lance only laughs in response.
His hands leave their respective places to both hold Keith's legs in place, pressing them down against his shoulders this time.
Keith doesn't know what to do with himself anymore. He uselessly lets his arms fall back to his sides, fingers tightening around the bedsheets, digging in deeply. All he can feel is the fabric between his fingertips and the agonizing drag of Lance's dick inside of him.
It's bordering on straight up hurting now, but his own dick is fully hard again, or it never stopped being hard, and it's slapping against his come-streaked stomach with every sharp thrust forward of Lance's hips.
Somehow, the feeling is still immensely pleasurable and Keith can't stop himself from whimpering with the movements.
The movements that slowly start to lack finesse and instead just hammer into him, Lance evidently chasing his own bliss at this point. Keith would be hard pressed to not give him what he wants, especially after taunting him, thinking that he wouldn't be able to last at all.
Lance hasn't stopped talking this whole time, muttered words of praise, gasping curses between breaths, because of course he'd be loud.
But Keith can't be one to judge because for the second time in his life, he's just as loud as Lance and both of those times are entirely Lance's fault. Every breath crosses the line into a moan, sounding more and more ragged the longer Lance keeps going.
He feels like he's about to snap in two by the time he comes again, seeing white as he does. He's pretty sure he actually screams because Lance's hand lands on his mouth, effectively shutting him up. His eyes flutter closed and he's letting himself go with the feeling.
"Keith," Lance's voice comes from somewhere above him, "–so close."
He weakly clenches around Lance, hoping it will get him there sooner. His legs spasm.
The way that Lance's hips move grows more and more erratic with every second that passes. He goes even harder, even faster and Keith feels tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. But in all honesty, he fucking loves this. If every time from now on goes like this, Keith will consider himself a lucky man.
"Keith." Lance sounds like a wreck, all high in pitch and whiny, which is insane, because he's not even the one who's taking it up the ass right now.
"Come on," Keith manages to bring out between gasps.
"I'm– fuck, oh god." Lance's hips stutter in their movements and his back arches, his chin tilts upwards, exposing his neck and the drops of sweat running down the tanned skin of throat. "I'm gonna– ha– fuck, fuck, shit."
Lance makes the absolute fucking hottest noise Keith has ever heard in his life when he comes. He feels it, too.
Exhaustion washes over him as Lance collapses back onto his heels afterwards, pulling out entirely too slow. Keith throws his left arm over his sweat-slicked face, leaving just a small crack to catch a glimpse at Lance pulling the condom off, tying it closed and throwing it into the trash. He hits it smack dab in the middle, his blissed out expression overtaken by the sweet joy of victory.
"Did you see that?" Lance asks, his eyes bright and excited.
Keith grins, he still feels hazy around the edges, warm and downright euphoric. "See what?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice.
"I hit the trash can without even trying!"
"With your nasty, used condom?" Keith laughs. His cheeks hurt from it.
Lance gasps in mock-offense. "You talk a big game for someone who's still covered in jizz."
He looks down at himself, genuinely having forgotten about that whole situation. Before he can stop it, a giggle escapes him. Despite the rapidly cooling come on his chest and his ass feeling like it's on fire, he feels fucking ecstatic still.
Lance goes to the washroom and comes back with a wet towel, wiping Keith's chest down before tossing it aside, somewhere next to the piles of their clothes on the floor.
Laying his head down next to Keith's on the pillow, Lance scoots into place against his side, slinging his leg over his stomach and holding his hand flat against Keith's chest. His fingers draw patterns into the sweaty skin there.
"Are you always this much of an ass?" Keith asks eventually, after his breathing has evened out completely. His voice sounds awful.
"Nope," Lance says, popping the 'p' sound, probably just to annoy him, "you just bring out the worst in me, babe."
"Hmm, always a pleasure."
"Besides, you literally asked me to hold off," he adds, letting his hand run down all of Keith's chest, moving it down to the insides of his thighs. Still oversensitive, Keith shivers at the contact.
"Only because I didn't think you could do it."
"It's like you don't even know me. My favorite thing in the world is proving you wrong."
"Were you doing multiplication in your head the entire time?"
"Something like that." Lance laughs, his breath warm and damp against the crook of Keith's neck. "Did I tell you that you look extremely hot when you come? It's, like, actually insane."
Keith snorts. "You may have mentioned it." Among the garbled, incoherent praise that came from Lance the entire time, there might have been something along those lines. He doesn't really remember.
"Well, in case I didn't: super hot – extremely, unfairly hot. Like, life-changingly hot." Heat rushes to Keith's cheeks. "You think we can squeeze in another one of those before you leave in the morning? I really wanna commit that to memory."
Despite blushing deeply, Keith manages to scoff and roll his eyes. "Only if you go nowhere near my ass." Lance has definitely done enough damage there to last him a few days.
"You have a deal."
A little bit later, just when Keith is about to drift off, Lance stirs next to him. "Hey," he says, poking his finger into Keith's cheek. "No sleeping, we should shower."
"I don't want to," Keith answers, too wrapped up in the warmth of the bed and Lance's body draped over him.
"Not to be crude, because you know how much I hate that," Lance says, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "but you have, like, dried lube literally everywhere."
"Don't care."
"Okay, then. You're disgusting and you're not sleeping in my bed like this." Lance unsticks himself from Keith, moving into a sitting position. "C'mon, Keith. I promise it will be good."
Keith groans, but he doesn't put up much of a fight anymore, letting himself be pulled towards the shower.
As much as he hates to admit it, Lance was right. The warm water feels fantastic on his skin as it washes away the sweat and grime.
Keith sits for the longest time, back leaned against Lance's legs. And Lance takes his time shampooing Keith's hair, softly dragging his fingers along his scalp, massaging it in, having Keith melt into the touch.
He'd never thought that he'd come to enjoy being touched like this, not in a million years. When Lance had first hugged him after a mission a year ago, Keith had almost decked him right then and there.
Turns out, the urge for physical touch apparently comes free with being Lance's boyfriend.
And Lance's hands are always on him, in some way. These days, they don't leave him anymore.
Carefully, Lance kneels down with him on the floor, unscrewing one of his many colorful containers and starts rubbing some sort of scrub into Keith's back, his hand moving in small circles. It smells like cedar wood and basil.
"Is your shoulder alright?" Lance asks, making a point to avoid it until Keith gives the go-ahead. "I wasn't, uh, exactly gentle."
Absent-mindedly, Keith moves his right arm, rotating the joint slightly. It's not bad, not really. More like the ache that persists after a bruise starts to fade. It's there, barely noticeable, but nowhere near as bad as it was earlier today.
"I didn't ask you to be," he answers honestly. "You can touch it, too, if you want. It's mostly okay right now."
Lance hums behind him, scooping up more of the scrub before rubbing it onto his right arm and shoulder, applying pressure to Keith's muscles, pads of his fingers gliding past the scarring without hesitation.
Keith may or may not be experiencing a lot of firsts tonight. No one has ever really taken care of him like this, either. The last hookup he had ended with him standing alone underneath the cold shower, staring at his feet and trying hard not to feel nauseous.
This is so far removed from that. And after all, how could it not be? This is Lance. Of course things would be different with him.
Lance has taken to massaging Keith's hand, pushing both of his thumbs into Keith's palm, keeping the pressure light, but Keith already stops feeling the urge to close his hand, instead relaxing into the touch.
He looks at Lance, his brows furrowed in concentration, his head cocked slightly to the side, as he's sitting cross-legged next to Keith on the floor of the shower. The water comes down on them like heavy rainfall, fogging up the cabin, and Keith watches the water droplets run down Lance's body like they were made to be there.
"I love you," he says, for the second time that evening.
Lance lifts his head, setting Keith's hand down without letting go of it. His eyes seem to shine.
"I love you, too."
They go to bed together, but not without Lance making him moisturize against his will, going as far as sneakily smearing the gel-like cream onto Keith's cheek while he's blissfully unaware and brushing his teeth, essentially forcing him to rub it into his skin.
It's weirdly domestic, getting ready for bed at the same time, using mouthwash while Lance flosses, their eyes meeting in the mirror.
Keith could get used to this.
When he wakes up in the middle of the night, his chest hurts. He sucks in a deep breath, his hand flying up to his ribs, checking if something is off. They hold steady.
It takes him a moment to collect himself, to realize that he's still in Lance's bed and not being shoved into a healing pod.
Lance is sleeping soundly on his side facing Keith, not touching him, except with one of his legs stretched forwards, his foot resting against Keith's shin.
He shudders, breathing out shakily, reminding himself that he's fine. Repeating the same thing he's been telling himself for the past two months whenever his body decides to make things harder on him.
He's fine. He's okay. Nothing is happening to him.
Breathing in, holding his breath, and breathing out again. Easy.
Turning to his side, right arm pressing against his ribs, as if that could trick his brain into thinking that he won't fall apart, he looks at Lance. His expression is so relaxed, features smoothed out, lips slightly parted, his hair falling into his closed eyes.
Keith tries to match his slow, steady breathing.
In the dark, he lies awake, wondering what tomorrow will hold in store for him.
If coming back will lead him down the same path of recklessness again, where he forgets what he means to those around him, barely getting through it all by the skin of his teeth.
If something like Sehiri will happen again, where his own carelessness might cost him his life.
He brings both of his hands up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyes. One more breath in, another out. His ribs still hold.
More time passes, and Keith thinks he might start spiraling, when Lance stirs, moving closer towards him, pressing his forehead against Keith's shoulder. Their skin is warm where they touch.
What is he even thinking?
Nothing will be the same from here on out.
Things will be different and hopefully he'll be alright. Both him and Shiro have talked to Kolivan about joint missions, and about extending their help in the form of humanitarian work such as getting medical supplies to recovering planets, and aiding in rebuilding efforts.
Things will change.
They will, as long as Keith has a say in it.
They have to.
Leaving in the morning proves harder than Keith'd thought.
He spends some time with Lance still, who's owning up to his promise from last night, but afterwards he goes to his room to pack his things. It's not a lot, but more than the last time. He's just taking his uniform, the formalwear and the new clothes he'd bought, and shoving them into his duffel bag. The zipper doesn't close all the way.
They all eat breakfast in the kitchen together, talking about anything but Keith's departure and it's nice, it's exactly what he needs.
Hunk has outdone himself with the food, which ranges from fruit he'd painstakingly collected at an alien market, to scones and jam that he made himself. He'd even packed Keith some bread for his journey, which in turn almost made Keith cry. He's gotten so soft, hasn't he?
Pidge doesn't really move from his side the entire time, being unusually talkative, asking questions, keeping Keith on his toes and occupied.
Shiro talks to him about what he missed at the gala yesterday, laughing as he talks about Coran ending up playing one of the band's instruments against his will.
And Lance… Lance is a steady, grounding presence next to him, their feet touching underneath the table, smiling reassuringly when he notices Keith faltering.
When it's actually time to leave, everyone is waiting in the hangar for him, standing next to the ship that got flown in for him. Keith vaguely notes that he got promoted to fighter class again, but he's more excited about the fact that he's not going to say goodbye to an empty hallway.
Like the last time.
Now, it's the polar opposite to what happened back then.
Because then, it was just him in his uniform, his empty duffel bag slung over his chest, tears stinging in his eyes as he snuck into the hangar, trying to slip away unnoticed. He remembers receiving that text from Lance an hour later, asking him to join him in the kitchen, and his hands had started shaking so hard that he'd been unable to hold the datapad.
This time, the air is filled with laughter and arms wrapping around Keith's neck and his middle, squeezing as tightly as possible.
Keith's cheeks hurt from smiling when he steps into his ship, Lance carrying his bag for him.
The door automatically closes behind them, and Keith takes a moment to admire the new ride. It's all still new and shiny, unused. He steps forward into the cockpit, looking at the machinery, squinting at the different settings behind the controls. Through the window, he sees Hunk waving at him, so he grins and waves back, like a child seeing their friend pass by in a car on the way to school.
Behind him, Lance sets down the bag, and Keith turns around, leaning against the backrest of the pilot's seat.
"Nice ship," Lance says, smirking.
"Yours might be even nicer," Keith answers, reaching out first, and pulling Lance towards him by his hips.
He laughs, settling between Keith's legs. "Yeah, Red's a real beauty, isn't he?"
"Just like his pilot."
Lance whistles approvingly. "Didn't know you had moves like that, Kogane." Just before Keith can answer, he adds, "woah, wait. Are we one of those couples that are, like, merging into one another if they spend too much time together?"
"Imagine," Keith says lowly, leaning forward, just shy of kissing him, before letting his eyes flick up, "I can't think of anything worse."
Lance half heartedly pushes Keith back, color rushing to his cheeks. "You're such an ass."
"I know."
"To think you'd do me like this, on the day of your departure, where I'm going through such hardships just to–"
Keith rolls his eyes and kisses him, reaching up to cradle Lance's face with both of his hands.
Lance gasps against his lips, ever so quietly, but returns the kiss with fervor, his hands curling around Keith's wrists.
Deepening the kiss, Keith pours everything he won't be able to do for the next week into it.
When he pulls back, Lance looks positively flushed, dazed smile on his lips. "Okay," he says, gathering himself. "I'll see you in a week, yeah?"
"In a week," Keith confirms and pushes his hair out of his face.
"And you'll call if you can?"
"I will."
Lance pulls him into a tight hug then, and that suddenly feels more final than the kiss they'd shared just now. His arms wrapping around Keith's neck, Keith can feel Lance's curls tickle against his nose.
"I'll miss you," Lance mumbles into the soft skin of Keith's throat.
Keith doesn't even get a chance to say it back before Lance moves away, much too soon. Wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, Lance grins at him.
"Now go, be all badass and shit," he says.
"I'll try," Keith answers, watching as Lance takes another step back.
And then Lance turns away, leaving Keith alone in the cockpit.
A small sliver of doubt splinters through him. He has to ask. He has to.
"Hey, Lance!" Keith yells after him, just a second before the door closes behind him.
Lance turns, wedging his foot between the door and the wall, forcing it to open again. "Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm making the right decision?"
His expression softens and he tilts his chin upwards, nodding. "I trust you, Keith."
Keith watches as Lance joins the others again, leaving the hangar, together as a group.
They wave and they smile as they do, and he's going to see them again in a week.
It's different this time around.
He starts the ship's engine.
It's half a year later and maybe he's going to be okay.
For the past week, he's been leading an infiltration mission on a planet called Jan'an. He's braiding his hair on his ship, watching his fingers move around the strands with practiced ease and he can't really contain his excitement. Just after he woke up this morning he'd talked to Hunk and Pidge through his datapad, smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt when he saw their faces. Both of them refused to tell him where Lance was, but Keith had a feeling that he knew what was coming next.
One of the Blades under his command knocks on the hull of the ship before coming in.
"Commander?" he asks, anxiously peering into the room.
Keith turns, slipping the hair tie around his braid. "Yes?"
"The rebel forces have arrived at the base. Their captain wishes to be introduced to you."
Keith nods, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. "I'll be there in two doboshes," he answers and waits for the door to slip shut again before he gives himself a last once-over in the mirror.
It's the first time he's wearing the new uniform that he was given along with his new rank. He thinks it suits him well, making him look taller and broader, perhaps a little more intimidating as well.
When he steps into the meeting room at their base, complete with a round table in the middle of the space and holograms set up in the middle depicting landscapes and floorplans, he can't stop his hands from shaking with excitement.
His eyes dart across the room, filled with the people accompanying him on this mission and plenty of rebels that he hasn't seen before, but he's only searching for one.
Someone taps him on the shoulder, the same Blade from earlier, and Keith moves to follow him to the front of the room.
"He'll be commanding the rebel unit, leading alongside you for the duration of the mission," he explains and Keith nods in understanding. "Kolivan said he's an excellent shot, maybe we can use that to our advantage once we infiltrate."
"I think so too," Keith answers.
The Blade says something else then, but Keith stops listening because the world seems to fade away around him as he catches sight of an ocean blue sleeve.
His heart might be beating out of his chest.
Lance walks towards him and Keith finally gets to see him in the flesh again. It's truly taking all of his willpower and more to not jump his bones right then and there, but he persists, and is actually able to hold himself back for the time being. Tonight might be a different story, but for now, he's got to keep up the façade of professionalism.
Lance has his mask on, but his goggles up on his forehead, exposing his eyes and the freckles around them, and Keith can see the crinkles of his skin from how hard he's smiling underneath the mask.
Keith's mask is on as well, and he's thankful for it, because he's grinning so hard that his face might split in two and that would be anything but professional, really.
They're introduced to each other with their respective ranks and tasks by the Blade and Keith bows his head slightly in greeting.
Lance holds his hand out in front of him. "McClain," he says.
Keith takes it, trying to stop his own hands from shaking. "Kogane," he answers.
Maybe he will really be okay out here, with Lance by his side.
It's another three years later and things are getting better.
When he woke up this morning, he'd resigned himself to having one of the harder days ahead of him – his shoulder hurt once again, badly, and he hasn't seen Lance in a month. At least they talked through a video call this morning.
He'd very nearly started crying when all of team Voltron squished into the frame when they saw that Lance and Keith were talking to each other. He misses them, but he also knows they'll assist his mission once he arrives at his target. They might already be there, he doesn't know yet.
Half an hour later, Keith jumps out of his ship in his reinforced suit, flying through the open space and lands on the hull of the Galran ship, a little too hard, much to the dismay of his knees and lower back. His boots clank as they hit the metal and Keith takes a moment to look up into the space above him.
Time is on his side. The second he looks up, he sees a yellow flash to the left and a green one to his right.
He tears his eyes away, walking a few steps towards one of the airlocks and crouches down, moving to open it.
Another flash zips through the stars above him, a violet one, a blue one and last, a red one.
Voltron is here, and Keith will be fine.
He breathes out, relieved and ecstatic, steadying himself on the handle of the airlock with one hand.
His right hand closes around the ring that hangs around his neck on a long, silver chain. It's made of the most resilient metal they could find, and it's so simple, but he knows he doesn't need much more than that.
The weight of it is familiar in his palm, even through his glove without gravity to pull it down.
He opens the airlock and jumps in, holding his breath.
He can do this, he'll be okay.
He knows things are going to be okay, just two years later.
Last night he returned from a medical supply drop, falling asleep next to Lance again for the first time in two weeks.
He knows in the morning they'll get up, and Keith will help Lance with his prosthetic leg if it gives him trouble again. Lance will make coffee in the kitchen for the two of them – one black for Keith and one with a truly revolting amount of sugar for himself. They'll drink it on their balcony, watching people walk underneath them in the streets and it'll be a small reprieve before Lance gets ready for work, training the next generation of pilots at the Garrison.
They'll make fun of the people walking by – Keith will make fun of someone's hair and Lance will remind him that he did have a mullet, so he really shouldn't be throwing stones from his spot in the glass house. He will laugh and kiss Lance to shut him up.
Later, Lance's sister Veronica is going to meet Keith for lunch and Lance will join them once his classes are done for the day.
Keith will have his hand on Lance's thigh underneath the table and Lance's fingers will glide over the smooth metal of the ring that Keith can finally wear on his hand instead of around his neck.
Of course, there are and still will be nights where he wakes up sweat-soaked in the middle of the night, gasping for air. Or when he wakes up because Lance is thrashing, frantically searching for Keith's body next to him.
But he knows they're going to be okay, because the war is over and things are back to how they were before. He knows they won't have to put their lives on the line anymore and they won't ever have to fight again.
He knows he has his friends by his side and Lance with him and he really, truly knows he's going to be okay.
That's all he needs.