#anyway wow! posting this at 3 am lik the rest of the fam

[midnightlie]

title: i wanna be yours pairing: keith/lance notes: sequel to the kiss prompt “you make me want to kiss you” because i’m weak as hell. you can read it here if you haven’t. also, i think there is going to be a third part to this so...that’s happening.

*

Keith sits alone in the mess hall, trying to find his appetite in the strange calm of the early morning as he stares down at his tray of food. Most of the compound is still asleep; he’s not even supposed to be on duty until 0700 hours, but he’s been restless for the past couple days and sleep has been hard to come by. His skin feels like it’s almost too small, too tight, for his body. There’s excess energy thrumming through him and nothing he does can curb it.

He’s tried drowning himself in extra work. He’s tried training with Krolia at all hours, wearing himself into exhaustion. He’s tried taking those hoverbikes out for a spin and running through the desert with Kosmo in the pre-dawn light and none of it works. The buzz is insistent, and it doesn’t care that he can’t sleep or focus properly because of it. And his heart. It’s beating too fast, even now, by himself, when there’s no reason to beat like this at all.

It’s been days. Four long, endless days, and he can’t stop thinking about it.

The thing is that Keith is obsessed.

He doesn’t want to stop thinking about it.

The way that Lance had looked up at him. How wide and searching his eyes had been, how his voice had cracked when he begged for Keith to kiss him. He still can’t believe that Lance had begged for it like that, that he had wanted it that badly. He shivers when he remembers how responsive Lance had been, clinging to Keith as if it was the only reason he had managed to stay upright. The whole thing is so vivid that Keith can still taste the salt of Lance’s skin and feel the heat in his blood.

It had been the first time Keith had ever kissed anyone. What he lacked in experience he more than made up with enthusiasm and he couldn’t have been that bad because Lance--damn, the way he responded. Keith can’t get it out of his head. Those heavy-lidded eyes, the needy plea of his voice. His rash impulses have never been rewarded with something so devastatingly heady. He doesn’t know what he did to deserve it, but god. God.

He stares down at his bowl of cold, untouched oatmeal. How is he supposed to have any sort of appetite after experiencing something like that? How is he supposed to eat when the only thing he’s hungry for is--

He startles out of his thoughts when there’s a clatter across the table from him. Keith looks up to see Shiro with a tray of his own, making himself perfectly at home there with a smile, his hair combed, his uniform pressed. Perfect in every way, really, before the day has even started.

“What did that poor oatmeal ever do to you?” he says by way of greeting. “Must have been something terrible because you look tense.”

Keith pushes his tray to the side with a roll of his eyes, decidedly uninterested in the cafeteria food. “Hi, Shiro.”

“You’re up early,” Shiro comments with a little hum. Keith can sense that he’s trying to take a stab at something, but he’s always been kind of delicate about breaching conversations like this. It’s as if he thinks he can coax Keith to blurt out the truth before he’s forced to drag it out of him. It’s never really worked, but he keeps trying, regardless. With recent events at the forefront of his mind, Keith is inclined to let Shiro keep dancing this time, too.

“Yeah,” Keith says, glancing at the military time on the wall. “Hey, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“It’s your lucky day; I’ve made time to eat breakfast with you.” Shiro takes a bite out of his breakfast pointedly. “Are you doing okay? You’ve been distracted lately.”

Distracted is a delicate word for it. Keith almost laughs.

He hasn’t talked to Lance since he walked him back to his dorm that night; their separate assignments have kept them busy and, most irritably, apart in the days that followed. Even their down time has been staggered opposite from each other or too short to allow for face-to-face conversations. Keith has had to settle for glimpses in passing or quick messages sent via datapad, and neither of those are very satisfying after actually kissing Lance.

But like, he can’t tell Shiro any of this. Not when he still hasn’t actually had a chance to talk to Lance about it. After the whole kissing thing...well, they didn’t do much talking that night, you know?

“I’m fine,” Keith says, and he’s more than fine so it’s the genuine truth. Considering how long he’d wanted all of this, considering the way Lance had wanted it, too, he’s doing pretty fantastic, actually. “Just...thinking a lot.”

Shiro swallows his bite, reading his transparency well enough to understand that Keith is being totally honest about being fine for once in his life. “Feel free to think out loud.”

Keith thinks about the way Lance had gripped his shoulders and keened softly into his mouth under a caress to Lance’s lower back. “I’ll spare you.”

“Keith--”

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know.”

What happened between him and Lance belongs to him. He doesn’t know if Lance has told anyone about it, but he doesn’t want to share it. It’s his. He likes it that way.

“Okay...but--”

“I know, I can talk to you, Shiro. I know.” Keith gives him a smile, which makes the wariness drop from Shiro’s demeanor. He seems to understand, finally, that the thing occupying Keith’s thoughts is not weighty or detrimental.

“Alright. Good...that’s good.”

They chat about nothing in particular for a while longer as Shiro shovels his food down before he has to head off to his meeting. Keith leaves with him, dumping his cold breakfast into the garbage before making his way back to his room. Or, he means to go back to his room, but he finds himself passing his quarters and taking a left at the end of his hallway. He’s not thinking with his head on straight.

Well, he is thinking. About blue sapphire eyes and dark, wispy eyelashes and the most perfect cupid’s bow in the entire universe. The heat sits in his belly like a pile of embers, smoldering him from the inside out, and all he knows is that it’s been four days and there’s still an hour before their team debriefing with Shiro and some of the other higher ups. He could do a lot in an hour.

Lance answers his door immediately, and his expression goes from sleepy-annoyed to dumbfounded when he sees who it is.

And Keith...Keith isn’t prepared, at all. Lance’s face is fresh and dewy from whatever skin care ritual he’s just finished, making him look soft despite all of his sharper angles. His blue uniform jacket hangs unbuttoned, revealing the tight, black undershirt beneath it and Keith’s mouth goes dry. God, he’s parched. He drinks in the blush slowly creeping onto Lance’s face. The way his hair sticks up in odd, wild tufts, still uncombed and disheveled. Keith takes it all in like it could sate him, but there’s not a chance in hell he’ll be satisfied until the space between their bodies has disappeared and his hands are inching up under that tight shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he says, before Lance can ask. “I know it’s early, but it’s been--it’s been four days. I had to see you.” His voice is rough, and deeper than he means for it to be.

Lance stares, looking completely flustered. “This is an ambush, Keith, it’s not fair! I didn’t--I just rolled out of bed like, five minutes ago. I look--”

“Perfect,” Keith finishes for him, taking a bold step forward across the threshold, crowding into his space. “You look perfect, Lance.”

Lance takes a shaky breath.

“Let me in.” It should be a request, but it comes out like more of a demand and Keith means to backtrack and fix the tone of his voice, because it’s not gentle. And he wants to be gentle, but then Lance visibly shivers, the red on his face deepening as he responds with a step backwards. Keith swipes his hand over the door sensor and takes another step in so that it can close behind him. This time, Lance doesn’t move away, and the proximity makes those embers in his belly burn and burn and burn.

“This is--Keith, we have work today,” Lance mumbles, looking up to meet Keith’s shameless gaze almost shyly.

“I have to know what you want from me,” Keith tells him, his voice a rumble in his throat.

“I thought I was obvious.” Lance drops his gaze, cheeks still wonderfully red. Keith’s heart turns over in his chest when Lance takes his hands slowly, gently, as though Keith might run away if he moves too fast.

Keith immediately returns the hold, closing his eyes and leaning in so that the bridge of his nose is pressed to Lance’s down-turned forehead. When he takes a steadying breath, he can smell the generic shampoo in his hair, the organic sweetness of his facial wash and everything in his life - the loss he experienced, the love he found - seems to point to this moment, right now.

“Tell me,” he says softly and with the utmost conviction. This is awful close to a love confession, and somehow, the thought of it doesn’t scare him. He feels steady. Calm. Sure. And so very, very warm. “Tell me. Whatever you want from me, it’s yours.”

Lance’s grip tightens on his hands and silence follows as his words hang there in the air. It’s not awkward or unkind; he can feel Lance processing, can feel the slight tremble of his hands where they hold onto Keith’s. Keith wants to kiss him again so very badly.

“What if I want everything?” Lance asks, finally, his voice raw.

Keith’s answering emotion throttles him, and he pulls away slightly, opening his eyes only so he can cup Lance’s jaw with both hands, forcing their gazes to meet. “Then take it,” he says devotedly, heart swelling, making blatant eye contact so that Lance understands. Without skipping another beat, he brings his lips to Lance’s and presses in tenderly.

Lance makes a sound of surprise but then he’s putty; his hands reach up to cup Keith’s neck as Keith wraps his arms around Lance’s shoulders to pull him in as close as possible, opening his mouth eagerly as Keith tilts his head and licks at the seam of his lips. He tastes like toothpaste and for some reason, it makes Keith’s heart ache in the most ridiculous bout of affection he’s felt yet.

“I’ve thought about this,” Lance murmurs against Keith’s mouth. “I thought about you, like this, all the time. I-I couldn’t stop--I thought I was gonna die before I got to kiss you again.”

Keith wants to drown in him, so he walks him backwards until they are pressed to a wall and the lines of their bodies fit together more snugly than before. “I wouldn’t let that happen,” he promises, the tone of his voice like dark chocolate. Lance very nearly whimpers as Keith punctuates his vow with a deep, lingering kiss, running his hand through the messy ends of Lance’s hair.

“A-Ah, when did you get to be such a smooth operator?”

“I’ve been practicing in the mirror.”

Lance perks up at that, laughter in his voice as he pushes away marginally to look Keith in the eye. “Really?”

Keith smirks. “No.”

Lance laughs anyway, his mouth kissed-red and shiny and it’s so--it’s so good, and so wonderful and Keith loves him so much that he just has to kiss him again. He can’t help himself. He’d been so obsessed with the idea of Lance’s mouth that he couldn’t even eat breakfast. He couldn’t sleep.

“How are you--how are you....” Lance slides his hands down to curl into Keith’s jacket, trailing off distractedly as Keith nuzzles down the side of his neck, leaving gentle kisses as he tugs at the collar of that tight shirt for access to more skin.

“How am I what?” Keith hums, allowing his amusement to color his voice.

“You’re so--ah, fuck, Keith.” Lance sighs when Keith licks at the soft spot beneath his ear and kisses it earnestly. “You’re so, so good at this.”

Keith just presses his face there, into the curve of Lance’s throat. “Practicing...in the mirror,” he murmurs, smiling briefly to himself when Lance lets out another breathless bout of laughter. He hums again, content. “I want to make you feel good, Lance.”

Lance groans at that and the sound shoots straight through Keith like an arrow, convincing him that there’s literally no reason why he shouldn’t be kissing the breath out of Lance right now. So, he does. His mouth is a little more urgent this time, less careful, less gentle, and Lance’s hands grow more frantic, gripping onto him tighter.

“I wanna be yours, too,” Lance whispers against the pink scar on Keith’s face. It’s so quiet, uttered into his skin with so much resolve that Keith feels the intimacy of it dizzily, causing him to hold on tighter.

“Whatever you want,” Keith murmurs into the edge of Lance’s jaw. And then he kisses Lance again, because he wants that, too.