#SOME SHENANIGANS + WHIPPED KEITH FOR THE SOUL

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith thinks he might actually sink into his bed, that’s how goddamn tired he is.

It’s just been — such a long day. Painfully long. Keith thought dragging his brother out of Black’s astral plane would make things less stressful, but nooooo. Of course not. That would be too easy. Of course Shiro decides he doesn’t want the Black Paladin title back, and that, actually, he’d like to retire. Of course Keith can in no way find it within himself to force his brother, who only ever wanted to explore, back into the crushing expectations of the leader of the universe’s strongest weapon.

So. It’s just — a lot.

There weren’t even any missions today. Honestly, Keith prefers mission days — they’re a one-and-done kind of deal. You fly into battle, you think you’re gonna die, you panic about your friends dying, usually no one dies, you either complete the mission or you don’t, you go home. Of course there’s the soul crushing terror and overuse of energy that comes at the price of actual genuine years off his life, but that’s so clearly a Future Keith problem. Once Keith parks Black into the hangar he can Stop Thinking About it, except of course for the horrifying and endless nightmares.

But all this planning shit is horrendous.

First of all, Keith is an action guy. An investigation guy too, sometimes, if there is conspiracy involved (and/or some fuckass has challenged him in any way no matter how minuscule), but what he is not is a tactician guy. A planning guy. That kind of shit is for people who have crippling anxiety and are plagued with constant thoughts about how everything can and will go wrong. That’s why it’s a job for Lance. And Allura. And Hunk. And Shiro.

But not Keith. Keith prefers to walk blindly into dangerous situations and deal with whatever is thrown at him after. Black Paladin Keith, however, motherfucker that he is, has to sit down in meetings for a thousand hours and listen to people argue and try not to wish death and curses upon a myriad of irritating Coalition leaders and allies.

Keith needs a goddamn nap.

Not even bothering to take off his boots, and ignoring the Lance-shaped voice in his head squawking about how disgusting that is, Keith stuffs his face into his pillow, reaching blindly for a blanket and yanking it up to his ears. He is going to Sleep, goddamnit. He is going to keep his comm where it is, stuffed under his mattress, and pass the hell out, to be woken only by some terrible and glorious act of God herself. The universe and all its associates can take an hour to kindly piss the hell off and leave Keith alone.

A knock sounds on his door.

Keith screams. Loudly.

“Keith?” calls a voice, muffled through the doorway, and of course it is the one person in the entire world who Keith has never and will never be able to say no to.

“Hnnnnnngh,” Keith responds. He actually tears up, a little.

The door slides open. Hunk pokes his head in, smile sweet and guilty and hopeful.

“I’m going to swallow engine oil,” Keith anguishes.

“Maybe don’t,” Hunk suggests lightly.

Keith groans again, shoving his head back into the pillow. Hunk patiently waits for Keith to get his shit together enough to lift his head again. Probably because he knows he’s more effective if he can manipulate Keith via facial expressions. Ugh. Keith should ask if he can return his friends. Get store credit, maybe. It’s not worth it.

Hunk smiles sunnily when Keith manages to pull away from his pillow, proving his point. Keith scowls extra hard at him.

“I am busy, Hunk.”

“I need parts,” he pleads, hands pressed together and under his chin. “Pretty pretty please.”

“You have a lion that you can pilot yourself!”

“I need the parts for the lion. Duh.”

Keith groans again. He should say no. He probably can say no. If it was urgent, Coran would be flying the castle for the parts. Hunk is coming to Keith because he knows damn well that Keith is a sucker with a saviour complex. Keith is not going to give in this time.

…Except he is so. Because he is a sucker with a fucking saviour complex.

Fuck.

“You’re bumped down to third favourite,” Keith grouches, rolling off the bed and allowing himself three seconds to sprawl on the floor.

“Yeah, right,” Hunk snorts.

Keith growls. Hunk, wisely, chooses against anymore teasing or commentary, deciding instead to quickly back away and head back down to his workshop.

“Okay thanks Keith bye! Love you bunches!”

Keith rolls his eyes, fighting off the smile that traitorously wants to fight it’s way across his lips, and reaches for his comm to get the details of Hunk’s errand.

“I am going to fucking bite him,” he says, carefully controlled, as he reads the message.

MISSION SHOULD YOU ACCEPT: get parts for hunk because you love him so

OBJECTIVE: obtain 174g of Noxalian black ore (pure as possible)

PEOPLE NECESSARY: two so you should take lance probably ;)

LOCATION: Noxalia-1242

DANGER LEVEL: like -2 but you’re so whipped for lance that it probably brings it up to like a 12 lol. loser

He’s red in the ears and it’s goddamn annoying, is what it is, because these are official mission documents, Hunk, which means they are technically public Coalition information once the mission has been completed. Public.

Hunk is the worst out of all of them for that. He actually had the highest record of diplomatic incidents caused, because he is actually physically incapable of keeping his comments to himself and this can, as one might anticipate, offend a large number of people.

But since he is a good fucking friend (the best, maybe) especially because his friends are class four menaces who do not deserve it in the slightest, Keith drags himself away from his bedroom and towards the materials room, where he knows Lance is.

He makes his frustration known.

Despite the fact that he was stomping like a petulant child and Lance has ears akin to the sonar receptors of a Navy submarine, Lance doesn’t react when he comes into the room, hunched as he is over a project of his.

Keith stops short. He grins wickedly, mood suddenly shifted.

Oh ho.

Oh ho ho.

Quieter, now, although he knows it doesn’t matter, Keith creeps towards the Red Paladin. He makes sure his footfalls are soundless and soft, just like he was taught by the Blades, and his body is directly behind Lance, in the blind spot of his peripheral vision. He focuses on the chair Lance is sitting on rather than his actual person so as to not envoy the feeling of being stared at. And quietly, quietly, he sneaks up behind him.

“RAH!” he shouts, seizing Lance’s shoulders and shaking them. Lance shrieks at the top of his lungs, jumping twelve cubic meters into the air, flailing wildly and sending his sketchbook flying at Keith’s face. Lance’s aim, as it always is, rings true, and the spine of the heavy book nails Keith directly on the bridge of his nose.

“Ow!” Keith yells, pain made worse by the heaving gasps of his laughter.

“¡Chingada madre de cráneo grueso!” Lance screams, hand pressed to his chest, and then, for Keith’s benefit, continues: “You mother fucker! You backwards, tumbleweed-guzzling, sand-eating, cow-fucking son of a minotaur! I’ll fucking get you! I’ll fucking — crush you to death! Come closer, Kogane, I swear to God I’ll wreck your shit —”

Breathless, weak, and wheezing, there’s nothing Keith can do to avoid Lance’s menacing advancing. He can’t even summon the strength to lift his arms to defend himself from Lance’s smacking. He just sits there, taking it, laughing harder every time he remembers just how fucking high Lance had jumped.

“You fucking — stop fucking laughing! Asshole!”

Lance’s expression is only growing more murderous. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl and he sure are shit isn’t pulling his punches. The only thing assuring Keith that he’s not genuinely about to die, curled on the floor, completely devoid of dignity, is the ever-present warmth in Lance’s brown eyes, even as they’re narrowed in fury.

“I — I’m sorry,” Keith wheezes, loosely wrapping his hands around Lance’s ankle as he kicks him. “Please. Oh my God. Stop. I cant breathe.”

“I hope you suffocate!” Lance shrieks.

“Lance, please,” Keith begs. With more strength than he knew he had, Keith heaves a giant, calming breath, shoving the image of Lance’s face as he’d practically flipped off the chair far into the recesses of his mind. Fuck. “I’m sorry. You were so focused. I couldn’t resist.”

Lance huffs. He kicks Keith one last time for prosperity before plopping on the floor next to him, scowl still affixed to his face, but lips twitching with a clear attempt to keep it there.

“I’m allowing your amusement because I laughed today when Senator Grmsx called you a toad. But watch your back.”

“Noted,” Keith says with amusement. He sighs, breath shuddering with the last of his laughter, and stretches out, sliding his feet under Lance’s thighs and resting the back of his skull on the floor. He stares at the ceiling until his vision gets unfocused and blurry, making the glowing blue streaks warp and swirl. He smiles slightly when he feels Lance’s arm hook around his bent knees.

“I got conned,” he laments, flipping his arms behind his head.

Lance hums. “Hunk?”

“Yep.”

“Capitalised on your intense need to do things for your friends to send you on errands?”

“Mhm.”

“Sucks to suck.”

Keith tucks his folded hands under his head and looks up at Lance, smiling in a mirror to Hunk, earlier, sweet and guilty and hopeful. “Well…”

Lance pulls away, waving his hands. “Nuh-uh. No way. You’re not dragging me into your shit, Superman. You want to help everyone around you like the tryhard golden retriever you are, that’s a you problem. I’m a bitch on purpose so I can be errand-free.”

“Please?” Keith tries, batting his eyelashes. The thirteen year old version of himself in his head is dying of embarrassment. (Good. He can suffer for a bit. He used to insist on sleeping on the floor because sleeping on a bed was ‘too mainstream’.)

Lance glares at him. Keith can actually physically see his resolve breaking. He’s very smug about it.

“Ugh,” Lance says.

“Thank you,” Keith says, smirking.

“Ugh,” Lance says again, much more pointed. “Where are we even going?”

Keith climbs to his feet, offering a hand to pull Lance up, too. He stretches and shifts his shoulders, leading them both out of the material room and down to the hangars.

“Noxalia-1242. Hunk needs some kind of ore.”

Lance gasps, dropping Keith’s hand. It is then that Keith realises that they were holding hands, and chokes on his own spit.

“Noxalia-1242? You sure?”

“Yes,” Keith rasps, still dying. Lance doesn’t notice, beaming so wide his eyes are nearly forced shut. He lets out this shout of excitement and wiggles, a little, like he can’t contain himself, and it’s so fucking cute that Keith somehow chokes again, which he didn’t think was possible. There’s a genuine concern that he may pass away.

“You should’ve led with that! Let’s go let’s go let’s go!”

He sprints the rest of the way to Black’s hangar, dragging Keith along. Keith tries desperately to get ahold of himself. It works about 27%, which is way more than he was expecting.

Lance is practically bouncing in glee the entire trip, scrambling out of his seatbelt and twirling around the cabin the second they breach the castle’s orbit. He’s actually humming to himself. Keith’s grinning so wide it hurts, and he doesn’t even know why they’re excited. Lance is just — infectious, as he always is; bright and all-encompassing and sparkling.

It’s a struggle and a half to land, and not just because Lance is being distracting. (Or, well, that Keith is distracted by him. It’s not really Lance’s fault. Keith was once distracted by Lance yawning, for reasons he’s too embarrassed to admit even to himself.) The surface of the planet is slate grey and thick with swirling, furious clouds, and it’s a testament to Black’s power that they manage to stay mostly steady, because Keith is a good pilot but he well and truly can’t see shit. The landing is rough.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Lance urges, out of his seatbelt faster than Keith can blink and rushing him to get out of his. “Let’s go!”

“I’m coming, Jesus,” Keith mumbles, finally releasing that damn buckle. He has to sprint to keep up with Lance, following him to the slowly opening hatch.

When they get to the open door, Keith is assaulted with a gust of frigid air and a spray of water. He curses, ducking to the side, hiking his collar over his head so he doesn’t get too soaked. He wishes he’d known to bring his armour.

“Fuck, it’s — pouring!”

Lance laughs, delighted, and before Keith can even think to stop him he sprints down the ramp, into the rain, soaked to the bone immediately.

“Lance! Lance — come back here! What are you doing?!”

But Lance only laughs again, and Keith can’t hear it because of a roar of thunder but he can see it in the giant grin on Lance’s face, open-mouthed, and the way he squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back and opens his arms to the skies like he’s worried the rain isn’t soaking enough of him.

“You’re going to get pneumonia, you anaemic dumbass!” Keith shouts.

“Come join me!” Lance shouts back.

The worst part is that Keith doesn’t even think.

He stumbles down the ramp without even a second of hesitation, before he’d even realized he’d moved, cursing the whole time, shocked with the sudden onslaught of cold and windy and wet. There’s something about the way Lance said it, not come out here not it’s just rain, dorkus not come get wet!, but come join me. Like it’s not about the rain but about the rain with Lance.

The very iron in Keith’s blood is pulled to him like the world’s strongest magnet.

“If I wanted to get soaked for no reason I’d jump in the pool fully clothed,” Keith grumbles, but there’s a breathless quality to his voice that cannot he muffled.

For the first time since he sprinted out of Black like a madman, Lance tears his face away from the heavens, looking at Keith with eyes that seem impossibly dark with from the reflection of the clouds, almost black as the storm.

“You hate the rain?”

“Yes!” Keith says emphatically, but he hears his own voice like a distant echo, far away. Lance’s laughter is bright and feels louder than the thunder, like clinking gold bangles. Keith’s heart drops to his stomach and his eyes go wider than planets.

Lance turns, slowly, hands still spread wide, face easy and open and peaceful in a way Keith has never seen on him, turned back up the the pelting rain, every droplet doing something to him that makes him glow.

“How could anyone hate the rain?”

Suddenly, wholly, breathlessly, Keith doesn’t. His collar slides from his slackened fingers and flops back over his neck, soaked through. His hair plasters to his forehead and it’s wet and cold and water drips directly into his eyes but suddenly he is warmed from the very centre of himself, ricocheting outwards.

“It’s breathtaking,” Keith finally admits, and he is, this son of the skies, this boy of the rain. He is the most breathtaking thing Keith has ever seen in his life.

He swallows, tilts his head up to the sky, and smiles.

———

based on this post

[autisticlancemcclain]

Lance finally gets his knees under him, despite Pidge’s loud complaints (“You’re squishing me, you lug, quit squirming!”), and hoots triumphantly. He curls his long fingers around the latch of the sunroof of Hunk’s family minivan, yanking it open and sticking his head and arms out.

“Oh my God, Lance, we’re going 120 fucking kilometres per hour! Sit properly!”

Hunk’s fretting does nothing to deter Lance’s gleeful laughter as he hollers to the wind, Allura’s cackling only endorsing him. Pidge pretends to keep complaining, but reaches over and tightens the seatbelt over his hips. Keith laughs, too, shaking his head at Lance’s shenanigans.

“I got him, Hunk,” he promises, wrapping a strong arm around Lance’s waist. Lance grins down at him, kissing his fingers and then pressing them to Keith’s forehead in thanks. Keith feels the area burn.

“If we hit something he’s gonna go flying out the damn windshield!” Hunk says, eyes frantically flicking over to Lance through the rearview mirror.

“There’s not another soul out here, Hunky! Just don’t swerve!” Lance shouts.

“It’s the fucking 401,” Hunk grumbles, “some idiot is gonna show up eventually.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Allura waves off. “We’re far out of Toronto and it’s eight o’clock. No one else is out at this hour.”

Hunk opens his mouth to worry further, but Lance’s loud whoop cuts him off. Keith watches as Hunk’s entire demeanour softens, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He shakes his head.

“Damn kid,” he says, as if Lance isn’t three months older than him. Allura grins too, reaching over to turn up the volume on the radio.

“Oh, I love this song!” Pidge shouts.

You got me stuck on the thought of you

I’m feeling like this might be my time to shine with you

Allura turns it up even more, the airy guitar blasting through the speakers as she and Pidge scream the lyrics at the top of their lungs and Hunk taps out the rhythm on the steering wheel. Keith glances up at Lance, and the sight of him takes Keith’s breath away: eyes closed and head tilted back, arms spread wide. The sun is low in the sky, shining its last golden rays in Keith’s eyes and making the copper-brown of Lance’s hair gleam.

Keith feels something hot and heavy burn in his chest, looking at Lance outshine the sun, a small smile bearing just a hint of his crooked front tooth. The sounds of his friends’ laughter and the rushing of the wind as they whip down the highway, the heat of the late summer air, and Lance and Lance and Lance. He’s suddenly flooded with images of Lance’s laughter, the creases he gets next to his eyes. He imagines those lines getting deeper as Lance continues to laugh brightly and unabashedly through their lives; he imagines holding a sun-browned hand in front of the warmth of a fire in deep winter; he imagines the sound of Lance’s pacing as they fret over a mortgage; he imagines Lance’s even breathes on white sheets as the slow morning rays wake him up. He imagines the rest of his life, the rest of their life, and he sees it so clearly that he feels it reverberate in his bones, feels it in the ache of his teeth.

Oh my God, I’m going to marry you, he thinks, and the words spark along his skin in every place it touches Lance’s.

———

He decides to go to Allura. It was really a pretty easy process of elimination. Shiro was an immediate no. (Keith loves his brother and looks up to him, but he also

watched Shiro impulse-propose to Adam in a Costco on Sunday, so.) Hunk was no good, either, because for all the man’s kindness he cannot keep a secret to save his life. Pidge would tease him until the end of time, and as much as she likes to pretend she is a fortress, if Lance applies even the slightest amount of pressure then she will crack like an egg. (And Lance will, too. He has an eye for secrets, it’s like he fuckin’ smells them. Keith remembers the time he accidentally deleted all the data in his Pokémon game. He’d been sure he’d be able to get it to Pidge in time for her to play it all back without Lance ever knowing, but the very second Lance had gotten home, he’d looked at Keith, squinted, and asked him what he was hiding. If Keith’s being honest it was a little hot.)

So that really left Allura. She was a pretty good choice, too — she grew up with Lance, and they’ve been shopping together since middle school, as far as he knows. Allura will know exactly what Lance will like. So he texts her, tells her that he has something important he needs her help with and to please meet him at the Eaton centre.

Keith waits for her outside the food court, because he knows she hates the Eaton centre and will only tolerate being here for an extended period of time if he buys her an iced capp.

“You better have a good reason for dragging me here, Gyeong,” she says, just as expected.

“I do,” he responds, presenting her with the iced capp. It has extra whipped cream. She grins.

“The odds are already turning in your favour. Hit me.”

“I need your help to find a ring. I’m going to ask Lance to marry me.”

She chokes. In hindsight, he maybe should have waited until the straw was out of her mouth.

“Are you? Seriously?” she rasps, once her trachea is working again.

He nods. Even if he wanted to, there’s nothing he can do to hide his smile. He’s excited. He keeps imagining holding Lance’s hand, rings clinking together, maybe introducing him to a friend. Yes, this is my beautiful fiancé, Lance, he’d say. And then eventually: Have you met my gorgeous husband, Lance? The idea lights him up.

“— to Keith. Eaaarrrrtthhhh to Keeeiiiitthh. Come in, space cadet.”

Keith blinks, seeing Allura’s hand waving rapidly in front of his face.

“Sorry. What?”

Allura rolls her eyes, shoulder checking him fondly. (Although, with her hockey-player muscles he goes flying. Just a little.)

“Someone’s already hearing wedding bells,” she teases.

Keith sighs. “Can’t help it.”

“Well, pack it up, Romeo, ‘cause you’re in the wrong place. We gotta take the train to Scarborough, you’re not gonna find what you’re looking for here.”

“What? Why?”

“You’re a very lucky man, Gyeong,” she says, dragging him by the wrist. Keith has to jog and keep up or else he might actually lose his arm. Allura sometimes forgets that she can easily bench press three Keiths.

“Duh. ‘Course I am. I mean —“ Keith sighs again, even dreamier this time — “just think about him. He’s literally more beautiful than the moon. He’s — he’s everything good in the world. I love him so much.”

Allura snorts. “That’s not what I meant, although that’s very sweet. I meant you’re lucky because Lance has been planning his wedding since he was literally four years old. He has a wedding binder. We gotta go to Tía Marcela’s.”

��——

The train ride to Scarborough is uneventful, if a little lengthy. Keith loses seventeen consecutive arm wrestling matches to Allura and thinks about how much Lance loves the train, and gets excited to ride it every time even though he’s been doing it since he was born. Allura scoffs when he tells her this.

“As if I’m not well aware, moon-eyes,” she tells him.

Marcela bestows them both with a flurry of affection and scolding when she opens the door. Allura bears the brunt of it.

“I am wasting away in this house alone,” she laments, ignoring Marco and Veronica’s indignant hey!s. “Would it kill my favourite niece to visit me every so often?”

“I come see you every week, Tía,” Allura says, amused. Marcela waves her hand.

“Once a week, bah. And you, Keith. I can’t see my future son-in-law on occasion either?”

Keith grins, big and toothy. Marcela can keep a secret.

“That’s actually why I’m here, Marcela,” he says. Marcela narrows her eyes at him, confused for a moment, but then it dawns in her and she gasps.

“You’re going to — oh! Dios mío, está sucediendo! Finalmente!”

She hugs him again, squeezing the breath out of him. He can’t say that he minds.

“‘Finally’ is right,” Allura says, sniggering. “How long have you two been dating? Six years? Seven?”

“Since grade ten. Seven,” Keith confirms.

Marcela fans her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, my youngest son. About to grow up and leave the nest.”

Allura laughs, patting her on the shoulder. “He’s 22, Tía. And he moved out last year!”

“Leaving the nest,” Marcela repeats, louder.

Keith grins. He’s known the Sanchez’s since Shiro moved him to the neighbourhood in grade eight, but there’s something special about the idea of being part of the family officially. He’s excited.

Eventually Marcela calms herself. She beckons them to follow her into the living room. She traces gentle fingers over the spines of dozens of photo albums, cases for family movies, beloved picture books. She stops when she reaches the most beat up binder on the shelf; three inches wide, blue almost completely covered with worn stickers from every franchise in the world. She pulls it out with a soft ‘oof’, setting it down on the coffee table. Slid through the plastic sleeve of the cover is a small, weathered-yellow paper, childish handwriting reading Lancito’s Wedding. The ‘e’ is backwards. A rush of emotions fill Keith’s throat, and it takes a few swallows for the lump to go away.

He picks up the binder with gentle hands, fingers carefully tracing the curves of the red letters, written so carefully. Marcela and Allura sandwich him in, curling up excitedly on either side of him, although they give him the time he needs to take it in. He opens the binder, finally, flipping through the organised sections and taking in every word.

Marcela smiles. “Dress or tux, I don’t care, but I want a train,” she reads aloud. ‘Train’ is underlined six times. “Of course he does.”

Allura stops him at the section marked ‘flowers’, pointing out a note written in purple pen. Handwriting is a little more refined, but it’s the first hint of purple they’ve seen so far — Keith remembers that. Lance wrote exclusively in purple pen for the entirety of eleventh grade, even taking docked points in math where he was supposed to be using a pencil. Keith has no idea why Lance did it, and Lance doesn’t seem to know, either. Just something he did. Keith inhales sharply as he reads it — Poppies are non-negotiable, they’re Keith’s favourite. Red/orange colour scheme then?? Keith looks nice in red.

“Every time he talked about his wedding, he talked about his wedding with you,” Allura says softly, reading his mind. “It wasn’t just his wedding he was planning. It was yours, together. He spoke about it constantly, to everyone.”

Keith hastily wipes a tear before it drips onto the binder. Marcela chuckles.

“Look,” she says, pointing to a page in the ‘invites’ section. It’s the most chaotic by far, lots of things scratched out and re-written. He sees Marco’s name in particular crossed out and written again at least four times and snorts, imagining teenage Lance angrily crossing out his brother’s name every time they fought.

What she was pointing out, though, and what makes Keith’s breath hitch, is his half of the invitation section. It’s as messy as Lance’s, but the care is so obviously present in each name…

Shiro and Adam in Keith’s party, of course. Make sure there’s space for Keith’s fencing friends. Oh, and maybe Krolia? And his uncles obvi. And I guess I’ll share custody of Allura. DON’T FORGET TO ASK HIM ABOUT OTHERS!!!!

“Share custody,” Keith repeats, tone teasing even as his voice shakes and his eyes wet.

Allura knocks their heads together. “I’m gonna be one of you two’s maid of honour, I’ll tell you that. Or else I’m damn well not going.”

“Liar,” Marcela teases.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I love them, I guess.”

Keith laughs wetly, finally turning the page into the ‘rings’ section. He came here for a reason, after all. This section is fairly sparse, compared to the others. Only three pages. The first has a picture of two simple silver bands.

These are the wedding bands, the note reads. Simpler, so Keith can wear them without them making him itchy and I can wear mine in the lab.

The next page has a blown-up image of a sketch, black ink with watercolour.

Ring if I propose to Keith, the title reads.

It’s another silver band, very smooth. But unlike the wedding band, this one is inlaid with several small, blue stones, so blue they’re almost black. Keith traces the lightest touches over the stones, heartbeat sprinting in his chest.

“Does he have this one already?” he asks quietly.

“No,” Allura says, just as quiet. “He designed it, but he said he’s only proposing to you if you don’t get the hint in a couple years. He had a feeling you wanted to do it.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, running his fingers over the carefully-done painting one more time before flipping the page. The next page has another blown-up watercolour, just like the first. It also has the same smooth silver band. There’s a teardrop-shaped pink stone in the middle, sandwiched by two small white stones. The title on this page makes Keith laugh out loud.

TO KEITH, WHEN ALLURA INEVITABLY SHOWS YOU THIS, it reads, THE BIGGER STONE IS PINK SAPPHIRE AND THE SMALLER CLEAR ONES ARE CLEAR QUARTZ. PLEASE AND THANK YOU. ALSO, I LOVE YOU.

“Dork,” he says. Allura and Marcela grin and mutter their agreement.

They flip through the rest of the binder, Keith memorising every page he sees. It’s like watching a whole new side of Lance come to life, one he loves just as much, but it also feels largely familiar, like an amalgamation of every piece of Lance that Keith already knows. He can’t get enough.

“You’re gonna see this binder again, doofus,” Allura says when she sees his hesitance to put it away. “In fact, I’ve heard wedding planning is horrible. I’m sure you’ll hate it in a few months.”

Keith thinks to how pieces of Lance are carefully tucked between each page. He knows he’ll love that binder and the man it represents until he dies, even if it’s the only thing he ever reads again.

“That is the gayest thing that has ever been said,” Allura informs him, and Keith realises he’s spoken aloud.

“My baby is getting married,” Marcela wails.

———

After Keith special orders the ring online, he spends the next few weeks wondering how he’s gonna pop the question. He spends long enough pondering that the ring arrives in the mail before he even has an inkling of a plan, which distresses him greatly. He loses nearly $50 buying Allura overly expensive Starbucks teas to bribe her into listening to him freak out.

“You are a loser,” Allura informs him one day as he’s resting his forehead defeatedly on the sticky table.

“I am out of ideas,” he says again.

“You could ask him in a pit of lava and he would cry tears of joy.”

“Allura, he deserves everything I could give him. I’d take him to the moon and ask him there if I could. To the kingdom of Atlantis. To the inside of his favourite flower. If it were possible, I’d ask him on the inside of a raincloud.”

“…Jesus H. Christ.”

Eventually, though, it’s Lance who gives him the plan.

“Aw, babe, come look at this garbage!”

Keith dries his hands on the hand towel, not hesitating to drop what he’s doing. The indignance in Lance’s tone doesn’t sound urgent, or anything, it’s really quite playful, but still. The leaky sink can wait.

“Show me,” Keith says, settling in comfortably behind Lance. Lance doesn’t hesitate to sink into him, melting into Keith as he wraps his arms around his waist and hooks his head over his shoulder. Lance angles his phone, showing Keith a video on Instagram. It’s a couple, two people Keith doesn’t recognize. The guy holds his girlfriend’s hand, tugging her into the centre of a square in what looks to be New York City. Maybe? Keith’s not sure.

Once they’re both situated, occasional gaps in the video as people walk by, the guy gets on one knee. The sound of people walking and going about their lives is so loud that it’s impossible to hear what he says. She must say yes, though, because they both look happy when they embrace.

Lance is shaking his head before the video even finishes. “Literally like a 4/10 proposal,” he says. “Ugh.”

Keith hums. He agrees, but this… this is a perfect opportunity. He has to be subtle.

“How come, sweetheart?”

“Well, for starters, it’s in Times fucking Square. There’s like a sixty percent chance he’s kneeling in piss.”

Keith snorts. “Fair.”

“Secondly, it’s so public! You can’t even hear them, and you can’t tell if family’s there. And what if some asshole ruins it? That whole thing is just a risky mess. I’d rather something small, y’know? Like it doesn’t have to be completely private, or anything, but I’d like my family and friends to be there and not random strangers. Maybe a garden, or a beach, or something.”

Keith’s heart pounds. He tries to subtly lean back a little, lest Lance feel it and gets suspicious.

Bingo.

“You asking me to get on one knee?” he teases, playing off the anxiety. Lance squawks.

“No! I’m not! Well, I’m not asking, but I’m also not saying that I wouldn’t mind. I mean. I guess what I’m trying to say that if it was on your radar of things you were possibly considering doing maybe then I wouldn’t mind.”

Keith laughs brightly, pressing a lingering kiss to Lance’s cheek. It’s warm, flustered.

“I’m only teasing,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to Lance’s neck. “We’ll get there when we get there, okay?”

Lance hums. He tilts his head, allowing Keith more access.

Keith takes the hint.

He forgets about planning, for a while.

———

The stress melts away after that. He knows what Lance wants, he knows that Lance is going to say yes (although he never really doubted), and also he’s no longer buying Allura a ridiculous amount of ‘please put up with me’ drinks. She complains about it.

“Now what am I going to do? Pay for it myself?”

“You’re a hockey player in the NHL, with a side job in IT. I don’t know why I was ever paying for your drinks in the first place.”

“…They taste better when I’m not paying for them, honestly.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Keith hides the ring in a place he’s absolutely, 100% certain Lance will not find — he unscrews one of the potlights in the kitchen, hiding the box in the upper cavity before screwing it back in. He’s very proud of that spot. He waits a while, too — he doesn’t want to do anything too soon, he wants it to be a bit of a surprise. If he suddenly takes Lance to the beach he’s gonna know. He waits until Lance’s lab hits a busy period, until Lance is very focused on work and isn’t thinking about much else. Then he finally reveals his plans to the rest of the group (plus Shiro and Adam). He asks them if they want to come over for dinner one evening, when Lance is working late.

“I’m doing a thing,” he announces as everyone’s eating.

“Elaborate,” Allura recites dutifully. Her tone is flat and lifeless. (Keith made her stick to a script. She threw things at him. He stayed stubborn. She eventually agreed.)

“I’m asking Lance to marry me and I want you guys to be there.”

This time, three people choke. Keith should really learn to time this better.

“About fucking time!” Pidge crows. “I’ve been waiting for you to fess up, you goober.”

Keith turns immediately to Allura in betrayal, who holds up her hands defensively. “I didn’t tell her!”

Pidge waves her fork dismissively. “Allura didn’t have to tell me. I know as soon as I saw your whipped ass making moon-eyes at Lance in the car last year.”

Keith’s jaw drops. “No you fucking did not.”

“Did too! It was embarrassing to look at!”

“Did not —”

Keith is interrupted by Hunk and Shiro’s simultaneous and loud sobs.

“Here we go,” sighs Adam, but he’s grinning. He pays his husband gently on the back. Allura does the same for Hunk.

“There, there.”

“Marriage,” Hunk wails.

Shiro nods frantically.

“This is a happy thing, guys,” Keith says, exasperated.

“We know!”

“We’re happy for you!”

“Is it happening soon?” Adam asks, ever the efficient one. Keith nods.

“Yeah, so long as you guys are free. I’m taking him up to one of Lake Huron’s beaches, they’re less crowded and not so rocky. Lance’s family is gonna try and book time off three weekends from now.”

“We’ll be there,” Pidge assures. Her eyes are still bright, but less teasing. She’s happy for them.

“Awesome,” Keith says.

He can’t wait. His veins buzz with anticipation.

———

It’s time. First week of August. He and Lance are the first to pile into Hunk’s van, squished together in the middle row like always.

“I haven’t been to the beach in forever,” Lance gushes. He’s vibrating in excitement. Keith feels the ring burn in his left pants pocket.

“I think you’re going to have a lot of fun this time,” Hunk says, and Keith has to stop himself from shooting him a look lest Lance catch on.

Please, Hunk, just a couple more hours, he thinks, trying to beam the thought into his friend’s head. It must work, because Hunk changes the subject, chatting with Lance about a work friend of theirs until everyone else has been picked up.

“Okay, now that your queen is here,” Allura says, crawling into the front seat, “the party may begin. Any song requests? Speak now or forever hold your piece.”

“Will you play Sunroof?” Keith asks quietly, tangling his hand with Lance’s.

Allura grins at him.

“Sure thing, Romeo.”

———

Keith’s hands start to sweat a little on the walk to the beach. Lance notices, both because he’s the most observant person Keith knows and also because Lance can definitely feel how clammy his palm is.

“You good, babe?” he asks.

“Just a little hot,” Keith lies. Lance squints at him for a moment, but evidently decides to let it slide with a shrug.

“If you’re sure.”

They walk a little behind everyone else, watching their friends and family be doofuses, joking and shoving each other and narrowly missing getting soaked. Keith takes the moment to appreciate how beautiful Lance looks in the dusky sun, jeans rolled up to his calves and water licking at his ankles. He looks ethereal, at the beach. Keith loves him so much his heart bursts.

He literally can’t wait another second.

He makes quick eye contact with Allura, who nods, and subtly starts to calm the circus and gets Adam to pull out his camera.

Keith reaches into his pocket, wrapping his hand around the box.

“Lance,” he starts.

“Hm?” Lance says turning his attention away from where he was looking for cool rocks. “What’s up?”

“I love you more than life, you know that?”

Lance grins. It’s not unusual for Keith to proclaim his undying love out of nowhere. He’s a little sappy.

“I do know,” he says. “I love you just as much.”

Keith smiles, too. The nervousness vanishes from his heart.

This is Lance.

“I love you so much, in fact, that there’s been something I’ve been meaning to do.”

He sees the second it clicks in Lance’s expression, and Lance’s dark brown eyes widen. Keith drops to his knees, pulling out the box and holding it in front of him. Lance still grips his other hand, hold only tightening.

“Keith,” he chokes out.

“I’ve loved you since the day I accidentally crashed into you while skateboarding and knocked you unconscious. You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, then, even beaten and bloody, and I loved you even when you swore we were rivals. I loved you when you held my hand that first time when we were kids in the theatre. I loved you when we kissed after the school bell rang, when I followed you to university years later. I loved you when you tossed me a key and asked me to move in with you. I loved you when you stuck your head out the sunroof when we were speeding down the highway and spread your arms out to the wind. I love you now, standing in front of me, and I’ll love you in every moment and every second of our future. And it’s going to be a long future, Lance, you and me. We’re going to grow old together and I’m going to love every minute of you, every version of you. And so I ask you, Lance Sanchez, my beating heart: will you marry me?”

Keith expects a yes. He expects a shout, maybe, and a hug and a tearful kiss.

He does not expect to be tackled into the waves.

“Yes!” Lance screams, so loudly they can hear him from the arctic for sure. “Yes I will marry you, yes yes yes!”

Keith laughs, wrapping an arm around his waist and dragging them both out of the water so they don’t drown. He’s luckily kept a tight hold on the ring. He opens the box with one hand — yeah, okay, that took some practice — and slides the ring onto Lance’s fourth finger. The cheers from their friends and family echo around them, as Lance grabs both sides of his face and kisses him soundly.

Keith wraps his other arm around Lance’s waist, pulling him closer still, and kisses him just as hard.

“We’re gonna get married,” Lance whispers between kisses, voice awed.

Keith smiles.

Yes, they are.