#mmmm im so insecure about this but whatever here is the post!

[abracadora-archived]

Blindspot

This small fic was inspired by the #greasykeith movement started by @baeyards. 

Pairings: Keith/Lance

Word Count: 3004

When a cute boy with lots of piercings and the coolest jacket Keith has ever seen walks into the mechanic shop where Keith works, Keith is… really gay. And slightly confused by how friendly said boy seems to be. 

Featuring Mechanic! Keith and Punk! Lance

(Sha/adins don’t interact!!)

Read on AO3 [Although reblogs are appreciated :) ]

The door of the lobby tinkles as someone walks in, bringing in a swoosh of heat from the outside and a burst of noise from the street outside. Keith, in the kitchenette attached to the lobby, ducks his head down and busies himself with the coffee. He briefly considers adding cream or sugar to the dark liquid, and then decides that he can’t be bothered. 

He scurries out of the small room, weaving his way through the lobby. He catches a snippet of the conversation between the lady at the front desk and the man standing in front of it. Keith’s eyes flit to the side and he nods shortly at the lady (he’s pretty sure her name is Lilian). The guy, who’s currently leaning with his arms rested on the top of the desk, is slightly taller than Keith but looks to be around his age, and Keith frowns, because this means that he’s most likely here for some car repairs, and that means that he’ll be going to one of the other mechanics.

Keith goes through the lobby and the lounge and pushes past the door that leads into the actual garage. There, he is met with mechanical sounds of metal clanging and tools squeaking and scraping- all of which is familiar and comfortable to Keith. He sees Rolo, an older coworker of his (that Keith is pretty sure he had a crush on in the first few weeks of working here) with half of his body disappearing underneath a car, and Hunk, a coworker of Keith’s age who is pulling out the dents from a recently crashed SUV. 

Keith goes over to Hunk. 

“How close are you to being done?” he asks. 

Hunk glances up at him and frowns slightly. “Half an hour, maybe? Why?”

“There’s this guy at the front desk,” Keith replies monotonously. “He’ll probably need one of you.” 

Hunk is observant, and he’s probably known Keith long enough to detect the frustration in his voice. He clucks sympathetically, and then takes a look at the coffee in Keith’s hand. “That thing has no cream or sugar in it, I’m assuming.”

 Keith shrugs, and takes a sip of it. Hunk makes a face. 

“How,” he says, before turning back to his work.

Keith leans against the wall, not bothering Hunk as he works, but just lazing in his company. Sometimes Keith wishes that he had been hired as a car mechanic instead of a motorbike one- he knows how to work with cars pretty well- but Keith much prefers bikes to cars. Keith He barely scraped by his actual driving test in high school, and nearly got arrested the last time he tried to properly drive.

Customers that need bike repairs aren’t common as those who need car repairs, for understandable reasons. That leaves Keith, who always needed something to do with his hands, with a lot of impatient and jittery energy.

He bounces his leg up and down as he glances back into the lounge. The guy from before leans against the wall of the lounge. He’s dressed in a dark jacket, one of those with the body made of denim and sleeves made out of leather. 

People don’t usually pull those off, Keith muses. The jacket is dotted with multiple pins, which Keith can’t describe from this distance, but what Keith can see are the multiple piercings that line his ears. Something akin to envy spikes up within Keith.

“Who’s that guy over there?” he says offhandedly. “He looks legit.”

Hunk’s head pops up from behind the car and his eyes follow Keith’s gaze over to the boy in the lounge. Inexplicably, Hunk barks out a laugh.

“Who? Lance?” he asks.

Keith looks back at Hunk with an expression in his eyes like Hunk just said that tomorrow the sun would turn green. “Who the fuck is Lance?” 

“That guy over there.” Hunk ducks back down to the car but continues talking to Keith. “His name’s Lance.” Hunk pats the car and stands up. “He’s a friend of mine. You think he looks legit?”

“Well, I mean.” Keith isn’t sure why he feels flustered. “I like his piercings.”

Hunk clicks his tongue. “Yeah, you would, they’re cool. He has that whole aesthetic going for him, you two could get along. Although-” Hunk pauses, and he eyes Keith outfit. “Your clothes are…a bit less put together than him. And he thinks that fingerless gloves are tacky.”

Keith scowls at him but doesn’t argue. Someone calls his name from near the front building and Keith’s head whips up. The manager of the place stands there with a clipboard in his hands. Keith says bye to Hunk and walks off in that direction, eager for something to do. 

“You have someone here for you,” the manager says when Keith approaches. 

“For me?”

“Well, for his bike. We brought it out back, it’s a basic gas tank repair. He’s in the lounge right now. He’s Lance McClain.”

Keith’s heart jumps, and he wonders why. A gas tank repair isn’t the most interesting, but Keith is itching to use his hands for something. He nods and heads into the lounge.

The burst of cool air when he walks in is almost a relief to him. He rubs the back of his hand against his forehead, rather uselessly, in an attempt to wipe off the sweat, and then looks at Lance.

“Are you Lance?” he asks, even though he already knows.

Lance turns to him with an eyebrow raised. Keith (for some reason) counts exactly four piercings on each ear of his, each pair carrying a different set of earrings. The lowest hanging ones on his earlobes glinted silver, and Keith’s stomach dropped. 

And then Keith notices the stud screwed through the right side of Lance’s lower lip. The realization vaguely feels like someone punching him in the stomach and then releasing butterflies.

Lance snaps his fingers just a bit away from Keith’s face. “Hello? You said my name.”

Keith winces, feeling his face flood with warmth. “I- yeah, sorry.”

Lance peers at him with eyes the colour of the ocean depths. “You good bro?”

“Yeah, I-” Keith fumbles over his words. He never was the best at talking to people, especially not with someone like Lance. “I like your piercings,” he says rather gruffly.

It wasn’t a lie- Keith is hot with envy- but Keith probably isn’t admitting the full truth, even to himself. (At least he’s self aware?)

“Oh.” The corner of Lance’s mouth curls up. “Cool, me too. You’re here to fix my bike.”

Keith clears his throat, quickly redirecting his mind back into business mode. “That’s right. What’s the issue with it?”

Lance lifts one hand up to scratch at the back of his neck, and Keith’s mind supplies, That’s so hot.

Shut up, Keith thinks in response.

“I kind of got into a crash, like, a week ago?” Lance scrunches his nose and Keith feels short of breath. “I punctured my gas tank, I think. I’m pretty sure.”

“Oh. Were you okay?” Keith asks automatically, glad that he can keep a semblance of politeness while his mind feels like it’s short-circuiting.

“Yeah, I just got a bit scraped up,” Lance says in a casual way that Keith can respect. “I haven’t even ridden my bike again.”

Keith nods. “Okay, we can… head to your bike then.”

They leave the building together and Keith tries not to be hyper-aware of Lance’s proximity to him. He scolds himself and tells the back of his mind that he’s being unprofessional and ridiculous.

He finds Lance’s bike pretty quicky since it’s the only one the garage. It’s sleek and looks pretty new, with a black and blue colour theme. 

“Wow,” Keith says, legitimately impressed. 

“It’s a Honda CB500,” Lance says with pride thrumming through his voice, as if Keith doesn’t have three motorcycle catalogs sitting on his desk at home as they speak. “It’s the 2017 model, too.”

“Nice,” Keith says. 

“Thanks,” Lance says genuinely, and the sideways smile he gives Keith makes Keith’s heart want to jump out of his chest. 

“I’m going to take a look at it.” Keith gestures towards the bike and he urges himself to get focused. Repairing motorcycles was something he was familiar with, and he shouldn’t let himself get distracted by some (admittedly cute) guy.

He wheels the motorcycle over to his station and starts to crank it up. He’s vaguely aware of Lance strolling up behind him. Keith forces himself not to glance over, and continues on with his work. 

“So… do you have a bike?” Lance asks. Keith pauses for a moment in the middle of taking out the tools he needs from his toolbox. 

“I don’t,” Keith answers. He goes on with the work; he doesn’t mind the attention, at least not from Lance, but it’s surprising to him that Lance would say anything. “I’m actually trying to save up for one right now. I’ve been interested in them since I was a kid.” That was the sole reason why Keith didn’t have more piercings or any tattoos right now; his desire to not have to walk to work in Miami’s heat and humidity was greater than his desire for an aesthetic, currently. 

“Really?” 

“I had, like, a collection of like 50 toy models when I was a kid,” Keith explains. His hands move, almost by instinct, over the different parts of the bike, making sure to handle everything with care.

Lance makes a noise that could be a laugh. 

“What?” Keith asks. 

“Nothing.” He hears Lance shift behind him. “Just. It’s different from my childhood, I guess. My siblings and I always played those make-believe games.”

Keith hums. By the time he was adopted, Keith’s own brother was already  starting college, so he was never given a chance to do anything of that sort. 

“Is that why you’re a mechanic?” Lance sounds curious, and Keith, for the life of him, doesn’t know why.

“Kind of.” Keith’s tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth as he concentrates- it’s an involuntary habit he developed, probably after a year of working with Hunk. “My older brother’s also a mechanical engineer and was interested in this stuff… I kind of learned from him, too. He’s getting his PhD this year,” Keith adds necessarily, feeling a warm glow of pride for Shiro.

“Cool, tell him congratulations for me.”

From anyone else, Keith thinks, that would have sounded sarcastic, but somehow Lance makes them seem like the most truthful words ever spoken. It’s an odd trait for someone that has spiked rings stuck in his ears. 

“I will.” Then Keith frowns and sets his tools down, turning around on Lance. “Why are you talking to me?”

Lance blinks, clearly offended. “Excuse me?”

“That came out wrong.” Keith resists the urge to massage the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “I mean, you know, customers don’t usually talk to the mechanic while they wait.”

Luckily, Lance doesn’t seem to be angry (Keith usually has no qualms about riling someone up, but it seems unfair to do it so someone as uniquely nice as Lance). He reaches up and tugs at a stray piece of hair that peeks out from the front of his black beanie. Keith’s stomach does a flip.

“I don’t know,” he says, and he almost sounds sheepish. “I was just. Making conversation.” 

“Oh.” Keith feels nonplussed. “Well, you can get coffee and lemonade in the lounge. And like, cookies.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and Keith is sure that neither of them have any clue what exactly is going on right now. 

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Lance holds two fingers up like a salute, and then contorts his face into a look of half-embarrassment, half-confusion. He walks off, leaving Keith also half-embarrassed, half-confused.

With his distraction gone, Keith is able to throw himself fully into his work. He works swiftly but meticulously, and by the time he looks up and realizes that an hour has passed since the manager spoke to him, the gas tank is already fixed. 

He sends a last, longing look towards the bike and then turns around and makes his way towards the lounge. His fingers are sticky with drying grease and dust, so he drags his fingers over the denim of his jeans, thankful that they’re black and will, for the most part, cover up the multiple stains he gets during the work day.

He actually breathes a sigh of relief as the air-conditioned air hits his skin, feeling the sweat on his skin cool instantly. The fans installed in the garage are literally never that useful during the peak of summer. 

“Lance?” he asks, searching with his eyes for that friendly smirk. Keith hopes that he didn’t grow impatient and leave, or they would have to store the bike for him and it would be another hassle. 

“I’m here!” says Lance’s voice, and he comes in through the door from the lobby. “I was having a chat with our lovely receptionist.”

Keith finds it a bit hard to swallow. “Right. I’m done with your bike.”

“Sweet.” Lance looks pleased, so that’s a bonus. “She’s all fixed up?”

“Good as new. They’re taking her to the front right now.” Keith tries for a smile, but he’s realizing that Lance will now leave forever, and for some absurd reason, that’s making him feel down.

“I can’t wait to ride her again,” Lance says mournfully. “It’s been a whole week.”

“I can see you’re attached to her,” Keith says, half-jokingly.

Lance smiles. “I named her Hermosa.”

“Nice,” Keith says, for lack of anything better to say.

“You know,” Lance says after a beat, lowering his ocean-blue gaze to meet Keith’s eyes. “If you’d be interested, I wouldn’t mind taking you on a ride one day.”

Keith’s brain isn’t able to comprehend Lance’s words. “Wait, what?”

Lance takes a step forwards, and the smile on his face transforms into (if Keith isn’t horribly, horribly mistaken) something that he could almost call flirtatious. “I mean, don’t think I didn’t notice that you’ve been flustered around me.”

Is Lance hitting on him? Is that what this is? There isn’t a possible way that Lance can actually be interested in Keith. Keith isn’t exactly the most appealing person in the world, as shown by his stained clothes and slightly matted hair and generally closed off personality. “I- wait, just- what?”

The confident looks falls off Lance’s face faster than Keith can blink. “Please tell me I’m reading that correctly. Holy shit, this is really fucking awkward if I’m not.”

Keith’s mind moves in fast forward, his thought process zipping forward to catch up with the situation that surrounds him. “No!” he splutters, taking a half-step forward. “No, I- I’m pretty sure you’re reading this exactly correctly.”

Lance’s face lights up, which makes Keith’s heart feel like it’s running a sprint in his chest. “Oh, really? I mean-” He clears his throat. “Yeah. Of course. I saw that.”

“I just didn’t assume that you would…” Keith���s voice is rather flimsy and he makes a vague gesture in an attempt to get his point across.

“Think I liked guys?” Lance grins, a whole wide smile with his white teeth showing, and his eyes crinkle up with something like amusement. He points to something on his vest and Keith follows the direction to a pin with the bisexual pride colours, resting over Lance’s heart next to a pin of the Cuban flag.

“Oh,” Keith says faintly. “Obviously I didn’t notice.”

Lance lets out a laugh that’s half a snort, half a giggle. Keith finds that it does inexplicable things to his heart. “Clearly.” His expression, looking nearly shy, and the change in demeanor gives Keith whiplash. “Do you think… maybe we could meet up something? To be clear, go out sometime.” He grins again and gives Keith a small wink of jest.

“Uh.” Keith coughs and curses himself for being so stilted. “Yeah. That’d be great.”

“Awesome.” Lance starts to speak so fast that Keith can barely catch what he’s saying. “I know this amazing Cuban bakery that we can go to. Actually, it’s owned by my aunt so I’m biased, but I promise you that the pastelitos de guayaba there are to die for. I’ll ride you there.” He whips out a Sharpie from his jeans pocket and grabs Keith’s hand, pulling him forward to scribble down a number on his skin. “Don’t forget to save the number before it rubs off.”

“I will,” Keith promises, feeling his cheeks warm up. It’s a good feeling, Keith decides.

“Cool.” Lance’s eyes are bright and Keith feels a faint rush in his chest and something like butterflies hatching in his stomach. “I gotta go pick up my bike, but I guess… I’ll see you around.”

“For sure,” Keith answers, and he tries to press down the oddly nice nervousness that bubbles in his stomach.

Lance squeezes Keith’s hand for a brief moment and then starts to walk away. Before he completely turns away, he looks back and Keith and gives him an impish grin and states, “I hope you plan on wearing cleaner clothes when we next meet.”

Keith glances down at his own grease-spotted shirt and looks back up at Lance, then rolls his eyes. “Yes, Lance, I do.”

Lance laughs, and to Keith it sounds like sunshine. “See you around, Mullet,” he says, and Keith is sure that he imagines the fondness that lies over the teasing nickname. Keith touches his own hair in mock offense and Lance shoots him a last smile before exiting the lounge.

Keith turns back to the garage and resists the urge to sigh like a lovestruck middle-schooler. Before he steps outside, he makes a mental reminder to save the number on his arm in his phone when he gets home, and when that thought brings a fluttery feeling to his stomach, Keith welcomes it.