Work Text:
“Stay focused and keep an eye out for - Lance, are you even listening to me?” Pidge’s voice echoes through the com and he rubs at his ear, hissing at the discomfort. Noisy.
“Yeah yeah, I got it,” Lance waves a carefree hand and takes a sip of his ‘Blue Skies’. They’ve been over this multiple times already but Pidge never seemed to get bored of lecturing him. “No trigger-happy moments, no blood or guts on the suit, and no more hoola-hoop distractions,” - which happened only once, by the way, and it totally worked, though not in the way they’d expected.
“This is an important mission,” Pidge hisses in a scolding manner as though they never did that before every goddamn mission. Pidge takes their job very seriously, whereas Lance just goes with the flow, even if that flow sometimes leads to him jumping off skyscrapers in order to escape pursuers and imminent death. “We don’t need to make it to the front pages again. Stop horsing around and put down that drink – yes, I can see you.” Mind-reading, all-seeing rascal.
“Pidge, my man, chill out,” Lance advises, already pleasantly buzzed. Man, this stuff is great, even more so when it's not bought with his money. “Just watch the hallway to the security room and it’ll be a-okay. This guy’s having a blast, Shiro’s stuck on his ass like a wet leaf.” With that, his blue eyes roam his superior’s form, mingling, wearing that fake polite smile and watching their target with hawk-like eyes. Lance almost feels unneeded.
“'Sides we got Hunk! S’up?” Lance presses a hand to his mouth to fake a yawn. Shit, he’s being way too loud.
“Get back to work, dude,” Hunk says in reply, bemused. The sound of him slurping on instant noodles follows. He and Pidge have switched jobs tonight, with Hunk sitting outside in their inconspicuous white cleaning van, observing.
“You guys are no fun,” Lance whines and downs the rest of the sugary drink. “If only there was someone – helloooo.”
“Lance? Lance, dude, no.”
But it’s already too late. His drunken mind focuses on the beautiful man who is gracefully approaching the bar, shoulders a little too tight for an event like this – that’s alright, Lance smugly thinks, easily fixable. He catches Lance’s depraved, roaming gaze almost immediately, and the corner of those alluring lips rises a little bit. Ohhh good, Mr. Stranger Danger over there is feeling their connection alright.
Lance subtly fixes the collar of the light blue dress shirt. His mouth goes a little dry when the pretty guy smoothly takes a seat right next to him and crosses those very fine legs, the material of his black pants stretching nicely. It takes him a moment to look away.
The guy’s eyeing him with a knowing look, chin propped against a curled hand. “See something you like?” he asks, straight to the point. Lance appreciates that quality in potential bed partners.
He ceases to function when their eyes meet – god, the stranger has the finest pair of eyes Lance has ever seen on a man – and nods dumbly, tongue-tied.
There’s a weird glint in the breathtaking man’s eyes that Lance cannot comprehend, and he watches the other call over the bartender, asking for a drink. Lance finally kicks his vocal chords into action.
“It’s on me,” he tells the bartender, who only nods and goes back to making more drinks. Then, Lance clears his throat, shifting in the seat until it feels as though he’s giving off that aloof vibe. Gotta be cool. “So, what brings you here, handsome?”
The stranger’s smirk grows, nailed it.
Lance watches his pale fingers inching closer to his finished drink, but those lidded, indigo eyes are focused on him exclusively. He kind of wants to brush away the soft-looking, black bangs from those pretty eyes, so that they won’t get in the way of his blatant staring. The stranger casually fishes out a blue cherry. “Personal business and free drinks,” he offers. Lance swears to god that the other winks at him. He then pops the cherry into his mouth. This is too sinful, Lance will have to go to church right away if this guy keeps doing that. His tongue swipes out to catch the lingering sweetness sticking to his thumb and forefinger. “And you? Surely there’s a good reason why you aren’t mingling.”
“Not a fan of crowds,” Lance lies. “I’ve got business here as well. Security-related business, in fact.“
“Lance, what the fuck do you think you’re telling this dude, it’s secret informa – “
Fuck, he forgot to turn off the com. Oh, he’s never going to hear the end of this. Lance winces and smacks a hand against his sensitive ringing ear, disconnecting from the shared feed. He tries to pass off the sudden jolt as nothing, and smiles in what he hopes to be a convincing manner. “There was a bug.”
The guy’s thick eyebrows rise, amused. “A bug?”
“Yep. A very, very pesky one that’s been buzzing for an hour now.”
“Uh…huh.” Great first impression, score negative ten for Lance McClain.
The stranger doesn’t seem as bothered as most people would, and Lance decides that it's safe to hit on him again. Some fun won’t hurt no matter how much his work colleagues constantly disagree. Admittedly, Hunk’s a fun-loving guy, but he’s usually too nervous and suspicious of everyone around when they’re on duty like this. “You know, I don’t dish out free drinks for no good reason.”
The nameless man hums, gaze flickering to Lance’s lips for a moment. “I didn’t think you would. Is there anything you’d like in return?” He finally takes the cherry’s stem out of his mouth, tied into a perfect knot. If Lance was standing right now, he’d be on the ground, clutching at his heart.
The bartender slides over their drinks. Lance picks up the one smelling strongly of vodka, a smug smile on his face. “Well, I’m always a slut for getting to know each other better,” he winks, giving his companion the drink and snorting at his puzzled expression. “I’m not going to ask you to give me your life story, chill. Unless you wanna. I’m cool with that, too.”
Lance thinks that he sees the other’s eyebrow twitching for a moment, but then the stranger's face flits back to that chest-punching seductiveness. “A therapy session? You’re a strange guy.”
“Your kinks control you, and not the other way around. Maybe I’m a sensitive, insecure guy in constant need of validation.”
“Don’t really look like one. Well, whatever you say, tall and handsome,” he clinks the glass filled with a brown concoction against Lance’s electric blue one. “Luckily for you, I’m a patient man. Cheers to this new, ah. Business arrangement.”
Lance grins before taking a gulp of the drink, keeping eye contact all the while. “Cheers to a great night. I’m Lance, by the way.”
The guy’s smirk is almost unsettling. “Keith. And I’m sure that it’s going to be a wonderful night.”
Lance ignores Shiro’s burning gaze drilling holes into the back of his head.
Lance spills his secrets to this not-quite-stranger without a second of hesitation. Of course he carefully avoids the whole underground spying business, but tells him everything else. Now that he thinks about it, he blames it on the sparkling eyes and the subtle physical contact that Keith initiates – fingers accidentally grazing, knees brushing together, a reassuring touch on his forearm. The tension is driving him insane and the booze clouds his better judgement. Lance should know better than to trust a shady guy like this, especially when he’s supposed to be on a mission, but then another two hours go by and there’s still no commotion in sight.
Keith’s left thigh is nearly draped over Lance’s leg when he leans into the black-haired man's ear to whisper some garbled, self-praising nonsense. “They used to call me the Tailor back in college.”
Keith’s cologne is positively dizzying. It smells strangely like a fireplace, makes Lance remember the huge house by the Varadero beach, the nights spent by the bonfires after those long days filled with surfing, and then looking at the stars. It’s a strange thought to mull over - that a complete stranger smells like home - but weirder things have happened to him in his field of work.
Keith quietly laughs against his ear, the one with the communication device pressed in it. It’s not a good thing, but Lance’s too far gone to give a shit. “I have no doubt in my mind that they did.” Keith’s slim fingers dip to his dark blue blazer, playing with the hem.
Lance’s mind short-circuits. “Come with me, and I’ll show you why,” he groans lowly. It may sound desperate but wow. The guy’s affecting him as though he’s bathed in aphrodisiacs for a week.
Keith’s breath hitches a little at the bold proposal and he noses Lance’s neck, hiking the thigh just a little higher up to fully rest on Lance’s. “Thought you’d never ask.”
“I was getting there,” Lance mumbles drunkenly, removing Keith’s playful fingers from his clothes – he’s already managed to pop open a random button of Lance's shirt, fingertips occasionally dipping into the gap to trace the heated skin right above a bullet wound scar. Lance laces their fingers together, an intimate gesture for someone so thirsty and ready to get off asap, notices Keith’s long eyelashes trembling. “I – I wanna introduce you to Blue.”
“Blue? Who’s that?” Keith asks, blinking owlishly. Lance keeps throwing him off guard the entire evening, a thing he's proud of.
“Just my amazing ride, baby,“ Lance laughs, proud. “Got myself that Blue Lion title at work coz of it.”
“Blue Lion? Really? Like in that urban legend of a crazy hitman?” Keith snorts, following Lance when the other tries to stand, unsuccessfully.
“An unfortunate coincidence,” Lance squeaks, voice too high-pitched to pass off as truth rather than a blatant lie.
“An awesome one, you mean.” Keith offers a hand to help him keep balance. It helps a little - he’s not that hammered yet. His handsome companion, on the other hand, seems completely unaffected by those Russian vodka cocktails. There’s a light pink tint on Keith's cheeks, but that too could be mistaken for a trick of light.
“Into danger?” Lance teases, stumbling along.
“More than you know. I’ve always been… fascinated by the stories of the Blue Lion, so this wouldn’t scare me away.” Keith’s vodka-scented breath brushes against the side of Lance’s sensitive bright red neck and he barely suppresses a shudder. “Quite the opposite, I think.”
“Hon, for you I can be anyone you want,” he hums and chooses to ignore Shiro’s eyes, the subtle rise of his champagne glass meant to tell him to get back to his position. Lance discreetly waves the older man off, earning a deep sigh in return. Dude just doesn’t understand the importance of getting some every now and then.
If he saw Shiro with someone breathtakingly beautiful like Keith, he’d be pretty damn jealous too.
He drags Keith down the quiet street, heartily laughing when either one of them trips – usually Lance, pulling Keith along – and when his back hits against Blue – and Lance does pull a Will Smith pose when introducing her, she deserves only the best of introductions - Keith wastes no time shoving his tongue down Lance’s very willing throat.
His arms automatically go to Keith’s sides, fingers digging into that slim waist, feeling every muscle, every curve and twitch, every intake of breath. He’s so warm under Lance’s palms that they feel as though they’re being scorched. Keith’s hands roam all over Lance’s wide chest as he keeps attacking his mouth with short, insistent kisses, moving them so that his toned thigh is snug between Lance’s own. Lance tangles their tongues together and feels Keith shuddering, pleased, when he brushes a few fingers up and down the curve of his spine. He moans when the brunet finally tangles his fingers into the long black hair and tugs, just enough to sting a little.
Lance goes in for his chest but Keith quickly bats the prying hands away, moving them to his ass instead, and who is Lance to question anything when he gets to squeeze that awesome booty.
“Inside,” Keith groans against his lips when they accidentally grind and Lance desperately searches his pockets for the keys, quickly unlocking the car. Keith nearly shoves him in, crawling over his debauched form to bite down on Lance’s lower lip, none-too-gently.
“Keith – ahhh, shit, Keithhhh – “ Lance moans. It’s fucking hard – haha – to talk when Keith’s grinding against him like a champ. Like he’s had many adventures in tight spaces before. With those looks? He probably has.
Keith finally removes his mouth from the slim column of Lance’s long neck, where he’s been sucking hickeys the size of Texas. “What?” he groans, looking just a little annoyed by the interruption. Someone’s impatient.
Lance amends by pecking those moist lips. “H-How… how drunk are you?”
Keith's eyebrows furrow as though this is a trick question. His indigo eyes seem cautious all of a sudden. “Just enough. Why are you asking?”
“I – “ Lance scoots up the leather backseat so that he’s leaning against the door. His tie is undone, along with half of his shirt, and Keith’s fingers are hot against the belt. The black wire of Lance's mic sticks out through the gap. “Are you drunk enough to – “ Keith’s hands continue working on the belt, purposefully brushing against his raging hard on. “Drunk enough to blow me yet?”
The caution dwindles from those beautiful eyes. Keith tugs down the zipper with a smug smile. “That’s the plan.”
Lance lets out a mix between a pathetic whimper and a needy moan before Keith tugs him closer and then they’re kissing again - this time sweeter, slower. Lance’s stomach squeezes painfully with a weird feeling, and his heart beats loudly in his ears when Keith brushes his cheek with a warm hand, stroking lightly. They disconnect for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes, Lance’s vision turning fuzzy around the edges. Keith’s thumb brushes over his cheekbone one last time, and Lance leans in, aching to kiss again, but Keith smoothly evades.
Keith's voice is emotionless when he whispers “sorry, Lance,” and it's followed by a painful sting of a needle in his neck.
Everything goes black.
“Get up, you lazy bum!” There’s an insistent smacking against his cheek.
Lance groans at the onslaught of sudden noise drifting in and out of focus. He thinks that he hears bits and pieces of conversations all around, too loud to comprehend. He groans, attempting to cover his ringing ears, but his body is far too heavy to complete the task. What the fuck…
“I said get up!” Pidge’s voice screams from somewhere above – God, is that you? – and the merciless pinch on his nose makes Lance shoot up into a sitting position.
“Oh, he’s up,” Shiro moodily states in that 'disappointed dad' voice and goes back to treating the nasty cut on his leg. Lance takes a wild look around. He’s at their base’s lobby, lying on the sofa, still dressed in the messy suit.
“What the fuck – “ he repeats as Hunk rushes in with the first aid kid, shining a flashlight into his eyes without hesitation. “Ow, dude, stop that. You’re gonna burn my eyes out.”
“Well, aren’t you proud of yourself?” Pidge sasses, hands on their hips. “Knocked out for the third time this year because you couldn’t listen to me instead of letting your dick do the thinking.”
Lance’s memory is fuzzy around the edges, head cotton-like, all attention focused on not projectile vomiting stomach content straight into his best friend’s face. Hunk’s fixing the strap of the pulse meter, a worried crease between thick eyebrows. “We don’t know what kind of shit he gave you to knock you out. Did he roofie you? Oh god, he probably did,” Hunk worries, pinching Lance’s lips shut and keeping an eye on the numbers. “Your pulse is shit by the way, get some rest and drink this,” he shoves a few pills into Lance’s numb fingers.
Lance feels like the world is moving too fast. He’s about to say something, but the uncomfortable knot in his stomach tightens, and Pidge immediately shoves a bucket under his nose.
“Thanks,” he says once he’s done retching.
“A small favor to not get your 'Blue Skies' all over me.”
“Pidge, come closer, I think another wave is coming – “
“Enough,” Shiro barks, a frown sharpening his eyebrows. “Once again, Lance, thanks to you, we've completely failed our mission. Allura and Coran are getting chewed out as we speak, and frankly, as your squad leader, I am ashamed.“ His eyes soften at the sight of dangerous twitching of Lance’s lower lip. “But as your friend, I’m glad that you came out of this unharmed.”
“Yeah, that’s because he was conked out the entire time,” Pidge snorts, rubbing salt into the wounds. “It's his fault that not only did we lose the flashdrive, our client was shot to death by his little sex buddy, too!”
Lance’s eyes widen at that. “Wait, what?”
Hunk eyes him warily, checking his head for any damage. “Guys, I think he’s gone to Crazy town due to that stuff he got injected with. “
Lance bats his friend’s arms away, groggy. “I’m fine, okay! I just thought that he was another harmless distraction, unable to use a pocket knife - those fuckers aren’t as creative as they think they are.”
“Did you stop thinking with your dick for long enough to reach that conclusion before he stabbed a needle into your neck or after!?”
Shiro pats Pidge’s shoulder to calm them down and rubs the bridge of his scarred nose, heaving an exasperated sigh. “The blaming is getting us nowhere. We’re all just as guilty for letting him slip away like this. We couldn’t protect our client. Even if Lance wasn’t out of commission at the time, we would’ve been unprepared for an attack like this.”
Pidge’s shoulders hunch at that. “That guy snuck up on me like a – like a – “
“Like a ninja?” Hunk offers. “I saw him moving around through the security cameras before he disconnected the feed. It was like watching some action movie hero.”
“Okay, so that guy is apparently Natasha Romanoff in disguise, but that doesn’t answer my other question. You guys are talking as though he launched a solo attack on all of you!? Only one guy caused all that damage!?”
“Only one guy. A little intoxicated, too, need I remind you,” Pidge confirms, and Lance whirls around, pissed off.
“Oh. Oh really,“ he hisses, indignant. “He fucking tries to seduce me,” – Pidge’s ‘more like you were the one seducing him’ falls on deaf ears - “Knocks me out like I’m some hooker asking too much for a BJ, and then he ruins my mission!” Red flashes in his vision. Keith, Keith, KEITH.
Hunk whines. “Please don’t say ‘and now it’s personal’.”
Lance has a… long and interesting history full of personal issues with self-proclaimed rivalry, usually ending in a whole lot of hospital visits and hate-fucking.
“Hell fucking yes, it’s personal!” Lance screams, boiling with rage. How dare he, that stupid... Mullet! Trampled all over his delicate feelings and then actually ruined the entire mission all by himself. No one’s ever managed to do that before! “This asshole better watch out, because I’m going to find him and stab him full of goddamn holes until he’s begging – “
“Context,“ Pidge coughs.
“Argh!” Lance hops off the sofa, immediately regretting the sudden movement. Nausea hits him like a wave. “He violated my pure body! What if the needle wasn’t even clean!? What if I have HIV now!?”
“Lance, you’re overreacting,” Shiro sighs.
The brunet’s head turns in his direction, blue eyes blazing like hellfire. “Give me all of the dirt you've got on this guy. ALL OF IT. I want to know everything, from his goddamn location, to what he eats for breakfast. ”
“Get some rest first. Dismissed,” Shiro commands, going back to tending to his wounds, and when Lance attempts to argue, Hunk wordlessly throws the kicking and screaming man over one shoulder, carrying him back to his quarters.
“Think he’s gonna quit this one?” Pidge asks once the duo is out of the room.
Shiro stops bandaging his leg. “I don’t think so. Perhaps it’s time for him to learn.”
Lance hates his brain. It provides him with dizzying images of what could’ve been if, oh, I don’t know, Keith hadn't stabbed him in the fucking neck with some weird serum probably meant to sedate stallions. He dreams of Keith’s hands all over him, brushing against his stomach, over the battle scars, his weight a solid pressure on Lance’s lap and dick.
“Lance, Lance, Lance – “ his name escapes that cursed, traitorous mouth, and then the brunet wakes up drenched in cold sweat, underwear sticking to –
He guiltily jerks off to the image of imaginary Keith riding him. What a jerk, affecting him even in dreams.
When he has to sit through yet another lecture from Allura - and she isn’t as kind and forgiving as Shiro, taking up the strict mother role in their group - Lance is more than dead on the inside. The amount of times she says “this is your last mistake, Lance, one more and they’ll get rid of you” is far too concerning. Lance would rather not risk an honorable discharge from his workplace and possibly world of the living. You can never know.
He then meets Shiro and the others in the older man's office where he starts up yet another plain PowerPoint presentation for them to witness, but this is that one time Lance is more than ready to hear him out.
Apparently, his little lying Mullet has been involved in the business of underworld for quite a while now, though not as active until a few years ago when he was taken in by the –surprise surprise - their mortal enemy agency, the Galra. Keith – ‘that’s his real name’, Shiro provides, but doesn’t elaborate on how he knows that – had quickly climbed the ranks and made a name for himself on notable missions such as, oh joy, that human trafficking incident in Columbia, which was unsurprisingly Lance’s responsibility (he got so much shit for fucking up that one) and the shooting in NYC (again, Lance’s responsibility).
“So he’s been fucking up my missions even before I knew him!? Is he out to get me or something!?” Lance yells indignantly, clutching at his chest. It feels tighter with every blurry pic of that fucking jackass dressed in black clothes, always wearing that stupid red bandanna that covers half of his face. His stupidly attractive face. Fuck.
“You know that the Galra have been our rivals even before Allura took over and formed the Voltron team,” Shiro explains. “I highly doubt that he acts on his own. They probably want to drive us out of business with stunts like these. Plus, we still had Nyma on the team and – “
“She leaked our mission details to Galra’s head hacker and bailed, I know,” Lance says bitterly. This is that one relationship he never got over. “This is fate, though. Fate brought us together to duke it out on missions.”
Shiro smacks his forehead. “But I just told you that it’s due to the information leaks to the – “
“Destiny!” Lance yells and points at the projection of Keith’s stupid grumpy face without his shitty bandanna on. “I’ll get him back for this, for this humiliation he keeps causing me!”
Shiro’s about to say something but Hunk just places a comforting hand on his bicep, “Just… let him have this.”
“He sure knows how to pick 'em.” Pidge stretches out in the chair. “Who wants to bet how long it’ll take before he sleeps with Keith's picture, with ‘NEMESIS’ written all over it?”
Hunk bets a 20, Shiro sits it out.
Lance doesn’t sleep with Keith’s picture, but the hitman's face is burned clearly into his head and fills him with determination on every mission he goes, silently hoping for Keith to be there. He never shows up and every single time Lance tries hard not to bash some Galra agent’s brains out while yelling ‘where is goddamn Keith, bring him to me’.
He does get blood on the suits, for which Pidge infinitely scolds him, always the one stuck with dirty laundry.
Lance continues doing it until Coran throws a remark that he isn’t a god, and it’s not his place to judge, which makes the unnecessary killing stop.
“Maybe you should also spell out his name with dead bodies to get his attention?” Hunk says one afternoon. They share a fistbump, and continue watching 'Deadpool' for the nth time - Lance’s greatest inspiration at work.
When he’s given a mission near Canada’s border to protect some fellow from an imminent Galra attack, Lance immediately takes it before Shiro’s mouth forms the long-awaited sentence – there’s a huge chance that Keith will be there.
It takes a lot of pleading and bitching, but so far his record’s been spotless – he tried very hard to earn back the trust of his superiors – so Allura only gives her consent and then he’s happily stuck on a two-hour long plane ride with Pidge squished next to him and Hunk sitting before them, looking a bit green in the face, their tech occupying the free seat.
Lance bounces in excitement.
He’s finally going to see Keith and then bash his head into the ground for lying to him like this.
His mission is a blur of introductions and briefings, driving down shitty roadsides, and lookouts. It’s awfully dull, the weather is actual shit, and Lance almost wishes that he had worn something warmer when there’s a commotion down the road and a jeep goes up in flames, swerving off the shingle. Lance quickly throws himself at the client, a bullet lodged in the backseat right where his head was just a second ago.
Hunk’s voice crackles over the com, “It’s the Galra and your boyfriend’s with them, too.”
Lance feels a manic grin stretch his face when he loads the gun and hears a sharp thud on the roof, as though someone has just landed on top of it. “Let’s get this show on the road!” he yells in excitement, and instructs the client to stay down in one rushed breath, almost relishing in the havoc of confused screaming and swerving. A few shots rip through the roof like it’s butter. Lance doesn’t hesitate to shoot back. “Come out, man! Let’s continue where we've left off!” Lance almost wishes that the whimpering guy by his side wouldn’t be here. It’s kind of killing his adrenaline-induced excitement.
Some bullets crack the backseat's bullet-proof windows and Lance finds himself glad for Hunk’s tinkering, but then the window of the driver’s seat shatters completely from a forceful kick and the driver falls dead, a bullet wound in his temple.
Lance would recognize those fingerless gloves anywhere. He shoots first and then lunges to the seat, crawling over the driver’s body to control the ride. He can’t juggle the gun, their safety, and the car all at once, and when he swerves, instead of throwing that menace off - probably too glued to the roof to start shooting - he gets kicked in the head.
Keith swiftly slides inside through the hole, sending glass raining everywhere.
The client's frightened yelling is no more than a distant hum as Lance focuses on Keith only and they wrestle for the wheel, barely staying on the shitty countryside road.
“Long time no see!” Lance screams, nose bleeding where Keith has elbowed him and sucker punches the other in retaliation, fixing the steering wheel. Keith’s gun is dropped somewhere under the seat, and while his jagged knife slices into Lance’s thigh like paper, it doesn’t stop him.
“Fuck the hell off, Lance,” Keith growls, and the car falls off the road after Lance lunges at him, taking out the extra gun strapped to his back, pressing it to the guy’s temple.
“I don’t think so. Stop the car or I’ll blow your brains out,” he hisses in warning, finger hovering over the trigger just to show that he’s serious.
And Keith does. His eyes burn a fierce violet when he briefly looks away and then takes a sudden turn, making them violently crash into a thick tree. Lance swears to god that he hears his ribs breaking at the sheer force of it.
Keith's left a bit disoriented by the crash too but his side of the car is mostly undamaged, so he eagerly kicks the door open with unsteady legs the moment he notices that the client has escaped from the back while they were still busy reeling.
Lance curses and spits out the mouthful of blood that keeps freely flowing into his throat. Motherfucker throws mean punches. “Running away like a goddamn one night stand, typical.”
He doesn’t have the time to check on the obvious concussion near his temple. He crawls out through the driver’s side, throwing himself at Keith, now wrestling the client for the hunter knife. Keith easily overpowers him in hand to hand combat, and it takes him forty seconds at most to steal Lance’s gun, and direct it at the older guy, pressed awkwardly against the side of the ruined car, his left leg bent at an awkward angle.
“No!” Lance yells, throwing himself between them, arms spread wide. Keith doesn’t hesitate and simply pulls the trigger.
Pain explodes in Lance’s lower side – sadly, a familiar sensation by now – and he turns his head to look back at the client, a bullet wound in his stomach.
He’s still, eyes closed and possibly dead.
Lance’s eyes turn wide when he clutches his side to put pressure on it, the blood spreading in a wet spot and sticking his fingers together. Oh, Pidge will kill him for getting this dirty.
Keith’s face is emotionless when he lowers the gun and throws it away. Lance flicks him the bird with his free hand before collapsing face-forward, watching with bleary eyes as Keith’s long legs disappear out of the sight.
“I’m keeping you alive this time.”
Lance feels a smile tugging at his lips. He wants to punch himself for letting Keith win yet again. “Fuck… you.”
There’s no reply after that.
He wakes up to Pidge’s face hovering above him. “You gotta stop running into him like this.”
“Dude, he fucking shot me.”
“I know. We saw.”
Lance rubs a bandaged hand over his face, regretting it immediately when it touches his tender nose. It’s probably broken. “Guess you could say that it was a shot through the heart, eh?” he laughs at his own joke, clutching above the wound. “Ow ow, take me to the hospital.”
Pidge turns away, bemused. “He’s okay alright. Still got his sense of crappy humor."
"Hey!"
Hunk hums something in the background and continues typing away at the laptop. Lance getting shot at was no longer that surprising. The bullet caught him in the side, missing his vitals. Nothing fatal. “How’s the client? They took care of him?”
Pidge is quiet for a bit. “Luckily for our client, we got him to safety on time. He’s in a rough condition, but he should pull through. It all depends on his will to live, I guess.”
Lance looks up at the ceiling of the plane. “If he survives, I’m going to order a bouquet of flowers and visit him personally. I'll take a selfie with him, only to rent out the biggest billboard out there afterwards, write ‘bitch guess who won’ and paste the selfie on it.”
“You do that,” Pidge says and pats his leg, forcing painkillers down his throat.
The client survives. Lance smugly struts around for a week straight.
He’s minding his own damn business on yet another mind-numbing boring mission, securing the room - which costs more than Lance’s old house - of any potential assassins when Keith crashes through the balcony’s spacious window – he has to stop doing that, is he into flashy entrances or is he actually half Spiderman, it's like the sixth time already.
Keith doesn’t get to reach behind himself to take out his pistols because Lance tackles him to the ground, and they roll around until Lance’s black bandanna slips off. For a second, Keith’s eyes widen, and then squint into hateful slits when he hisses, “You again.”
“The one and only, babe.” Lance throws a left hook at him, which Keith easily parries, and they switch positions, rattling the glass shelves of the fancy cupboard. It doesn’t take long before it starts raining glass on them, and Lance throws Keith back into the shards, making the other wince at the bigger pieces sticking through his letterman jacket and turtleneck.
Keith kicks him off, but Lance pulls him along until the other lays on top of the brunet completely. Keith wiggles around like an enraged feline, and drags his sharp, blunt nails under Lance’s shirt, drawing blood, arms pressed too close together to do much else. Lance keeps his own arms firmly locked around the black-haired assassin's torso as he kicks Keith’s knees out from under him whenever he regains some semblance to balance. It’s like an awkward cuddling session, except they’re two hitmen with vastly different tasks, and, oh right, Keith fucking shot at him more than once, actually shot him, and they hate each other.
Keith struggles more when Lance’s arm drifts down his sensitive back, towards his ass. His face turns bright red from anger. Lance winces at the pull of heated fingers on his still-tender bullet wound. “Let go, you oaf!” Keith rolls to the side, right as Lance pulls out the hunter knife that Keith always keeps strapped to his lower back, and throws it away.
Keith attempts to kick at him with his heels, but Lance is firmly pressed between his thighs, so it’s a hard thing to do. They roll around until Keith’s head presses against the leg of a chair, and he reaches behind himself, brandishing it like a weapon. Lance immediately backs off, the chair smashing into another cupboard, shattering its glass. They jump up at the same time, breathing heavily in exertion and eyeing each other, tensing when both of them look at the guns, synchronized.
Lance slides for one while Keith slides for the other and then their thighs are brushing as they face each other, Keith’s gun pressed into Lance’s forehead while Lance’s rests right under Keith’s chin.
Lance breathes heavily, adrenaline pumping raw energy into his veins, and tries to ignore the stinging pain caused by the shards sticking in his palms. Keith’s gasping for air too, hair all over the place, draped over those burning, indigo eyes that constantly haunt Lance’s dreams. Lance’s hand automatically twitches with need to push the soft strands away, but Keith presses the gun’s muzzle firmer into his forehead.
“Are you fucking stalking me, Blue Lion?” Keith hisses lowly, eyebrows slanting down. “What’s your fucking damage?”
“Other than a bullet wound and a needle in the neck? You’re a Galra, too.”
Keith visibly flinches at that, and his lower lip shakes a little. “I’m just doing my goddamn job. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll drop my gun, let me set off the bomb, and we’ll hopefully never see each other again.”
“You sure let me off the hook a lot for a coldblooded Galra assassin,” Lance huffs a laugh. Keith’s hand tightens around the gun. Lance loves the danger, so he pushes his forehead against the steel, the action startling the other. “Got a little attached to me during our first official meeting?”
“Shut up,” Keith bites back, inhaling noisily.
If Lance isn’t seeing things, he backs off a little, too.
“Did you get excited while we were wrestling?” he teases.
“If I put another bullet hole in you, will that make you shut up?”
Lance scowls and drops his weapon, eyebrow twitching dangerously. Keith turns guarded when Lance closes in, his grip on the weapon turning shaky. Lance steadies the muzzle with his fingertips and looks into Keith’s startled, indigo eyes, hoping to convey the mixed feelings that he feels, wishing to find something similar in those violet depths, too.
“Shoot me, Keith. Just fucking shoot me, you fake asshole, and be done with it.”
Keith’s fingers are trembling so badly that Lance is the one holding most of the gun’s weight now. His blue eyes roam that frightened face. “I know that you left me alive. Many times. You didn’t even bother to check on that guy, because going to him and jostling me around, would’ve deepened my wounds. Made me bleed out faster. I’m not a fucking idiot.”
Keith’s white teeth dig into his lower lip, eyes wild, and he eventually lowers the gun, dropping it into his lap. The nasty bruises covering his face blend into the ashamed flush overtaking his pale cheeks. “I can’t do it.”
For a while, Lance studies his unguarded expression, and then knocks their foreheads together, gradually closing his eyes and letting his guard down. His heart completely rules over his head when it comes to this guy, and if he’s meant to perish here because of it, so be it. “Why?”
Keith’s rough shove sends him crashing to the ground. Briefly, Lance thinks that he’s made a horrible mistake, but Keith simply climbs over him, pinning him to the cool, ceramic floor. “Because you confuse me! I want to get rid of you and move on with my life, but at the same time, I don’t!? And it’s goddamn weird, you’re weird, this is weird, and I - I feel weird,” he shouts, and then probes at the tender, aching spot near his heart, fully sitting down on Lance’s torso, shoulders hunched. It’s almost too easy to forget that this is the same guy who's managed to trick Lance time and time again, so completely honest with his emotions.
Keith lets out a short sigh. “It wouldn’t be as fun without you around.”
Which, okay, definitely goes straight through Lance’s heart, and then he wraps his arms around the enemy assassin, like a man on a mission to kiss the living hell out of him instead of trying to gun him down. Keith whimpers against his mouth, as though he’s been thinking about this just as much as Lance has, and melts into his arms, hands fisting the brunet’s shirt.
“Just touch me, you terrible tool with a bad haircut, oh my god,” Lance moans against his mouth and bucks his hips a little - an obvious pointer for Keith to grind downwards. Keith, despite his emotionally stunted personality, still manages to read body language pretty well, and he goes along with it without a second thought. Lance spreads open his legs for him, lets Keith readjust their pose and take the lead, his hands clenching, and, in turn, pushing the glass shards deeper into his skin.
“Stop that,” Keith chides, uncurling Lance’s hands carefully. “You’re hurting yourself.”
“Touching. Would’ve been nice if you were that concerned about my health before you, you know, decided to shoot me.”
“Do you ever shut up?” Keith groans when Lance roughly brushes his thigh against his crotch.
“Find a way to shut me up, honey.” It sounds like a challenge. Keith sucks on his bottom lip sweetly, bloody hands leaving trails on the skin of Lance’s tanned torso. His leg presses firmly against Lance’s attention-starved dick at the same moment a sticky fingertip brushes over a hardening nipple and Lance’s back arches off the cool floor, head thrown back in a loud moan. "Hijo de puta, dios!”
Keith stares at Lance as though he just spoke in some alien language, and it might as well be one, and the black-haired assassin sounds winded despite deadpanning, “I’m about to bust, what the fuck,” when there’s a commotion in the hallway, and the door nearly flies off the hinges. Keith jumps back as though he’s just been burnt, and then there’s an awkward moment of him, Shiro and Allura having a stare down – it’s like being walked in on by your parents, Jesus – before Allura opens fire, and Keith fucks right back off through the shattered window.
Hunk crashes through the door afterwards, takes one look at Lance’s debauched state, and yells, “I told you like multiple times to turn off your bloody com if you’re getting laid!”
“Shot him full of holes, eh!?” Pidge’s voice echoes from the hallway.
Lance pushes down his shirt, suddenly self-conscious. “Congratulations, everyone, you just killed the biggest hard on of my life.”
“Thankfully,” Shiro mutters and rushes out through the door, gun at ready.
Allura throws a look over her shoulder before following Shiro. “Pull up your zipper, McClain, and go after him! You’re still on different sides and he’s endangering our mission!”
Lance only takes Keith’s weapons with a dreamy sigh. “Hunk, my man, I am enamored.”
“Better snap out of it, this isn’t the time or the place, Romeo.”
Lance lets Keith off the hook, blowing a kiss and waving him off from the sixth floor’s balcony.
The last time they meet as enemies, is on a Galra helicopter, spiraling out of control. Lance feels immense pleasure beating the living shit out of his ex-girlfriend’s hacker boyfriend, but then the said ex throws him out off the helicopter. Lance barely manages to catch onto the poles. He resigns himself to death - the pressure is insane, and his shoulders already hurt from the fighting - but before Nyma can smash her rifle into his fingers, she gets knocked out and dragged back.
Keith stands above him, wrestling the pilot, and even when he’s nearly overboard, he still prioritizes Lance’s safety above his own, reaching out a hand. Lance grabs for it immediately, grasp slippery from fear, and they end up having to pull each other to stay on board, the pilot conked out with Keith immediately taking over as the pilot. They somehow manage not to crash.
Keith helps Lance to tie up the two Galra hackers, his face expressionless.
Lance has no idea what to say.
They both know that after wronging Galra like this, Keith will inevitably have a horde of assassins on his ass 24/7, public holidays included.
“I feel like…” Keith begins, and looks at the ocean, swirling and turbulent under the night sky. The mansions further away glow like the stars that they cannot see - Hong Kong's too damn polluted. “This is the first right thing I’ve done in a while,” he flexes his palms, peppered with tiny scars - an everlasting reminder of his and Lance’s run in at the fancy penthouse at NYC.
“Too bad that kindness isn’t always repaid.” Lance sits on the dock beside to him, swinging his legs. Somehow, he’s not bleeding out of his face.
The tension nearly skyrockets as the silence stretches on, both awkward and nice, and Lance finally sighs, “Where will you be going from now on?”
“I don’t know.”
It’s a simple, honest answer, and yet, it leaves Lance’s heart clenching uncomfortably in his chest. The black-haired assassin is finally free, and yet... He looks at Keith’s solemn face. “You know, you could always join Voltron. I’m sure that Allura will – “
“That’s out of the question. Your superiors will end up torturing me for answers about the Galra base and you know it.” Lance remains silent. “Thanks for the consideration, though. I appreciate it. Plus, I’d rather not put you or Voltron into danger," he smiles, mirthless. "You know, I met Shiro once. He tried to recruit me.”
Lance blinks, surprised. “Why didn’t you join?”
Keith shrugs. “It felt too… normal at the time. Like I was undeserving.”
“Everyone deserves it. Everyone needs a place to belong.”
“Shiro said the same thing.”
“Ahh… Well, I guess what's been done, is done. La vida es la vida, cariño.”
Keith smiles at that. Lance grins, too. “Knew you’d like it.”
“I do,” Keith says, gaze fixed on the cobalt-blue horizon, contemplative. “I really do.”
Lance laces their fingers together in response and dips his head lower to kiss him.
They part ways at the port before Keith goes into hiding.
Lance sometimes gets sweet messages from unknown phones, their IDs untraceable, and always located in different countries, but he knows that one day, Keith will surely return.
And if he doesn’t, well… Lance is known for his undying determination in pursuing his loves.