Somewhat Clear

 

Keith stop toweling his hair off and looked up at Lance. “Mh?”

 

They were both half sprawled on the floor of the training deck, catching their breath and rehydrating after a session of sparring. Keith was absolutely exhausted; after almost three weeks spent playfully beating the living crap one out of the other, they were starting to learn each other’s patterns and fighting styles. It meant that they were getting better, adjusting their own styles to make up for their weaknesses, but it also meant that the sessions were getting longer and more tiring than ever.

 

Keith had never sweated so much in his life; with his drenched hair plastered all over his face, he was sure he looked like a drowned rat.

 

On the other hand Lance, all long limbs and flushed skin, looked unfairly attractive, his face and neck coated in a fine sheen of sweat, the thin shirt sticking to his back, revealing wiry muscles beneath his skinny frame. His long fingers were fiddling with the water packet he had just drained, distractedly chasing the drops of moisture that had spilled out.

 

“Since when do you ask permission for that kind of thing?” Keith asked in a teasing tone, before opening a water packet of his own and taking a sip. When Lance didn’t react in his usually flustered way, seemingly lost in thought, eyes staring off in the distance and a thin wrinkle between his eyes, Keith sobered up. Something was up. “I mean, sure. What is it?”

 

Lance squeezed the packet in his hand, spilling a bit more of water on his palm, watching the drops flow along his bony wrist and forearm. “What are we doing, Keith?”

 

Keith swallowed, eyes following a drop until it dripped off Lance’s elbow to the floor. “Sparring?”

 

Lance groaned. “No, jeez, not right now, I meant-” he waved his hand, scrolling the moisture off. “I meant all the other stuff.”

 

Ah. For all that he had been drinking until a few seconds before, Keith suddenly felt his mouth dry out. He wasn’t really ready for that kind of talk. He never had been. For any kind of talk.

 

“I mean, it was a kiss, and it was okay, and then you came back, and it was still okay, far from me refusing to make out with someone who’s freely offering,” Lance rambled on, sending more drops flying as he gestured wildly. “I’m just. Confused.”

 

He turned to look at him, and Keith then knew how animals felt when they stood paralyzed on the concrete in front of a car, about to become roadkill. “I’m not sure we’re on the same page here, buddy. Why did you really ask me to kiss you?”

 

Keith wasn’t a coward. He made choices, and he sticked with them. He lived with the consequences, and he was ready to suffer through the worst of them until he came out on the other side. That kind of attitude had gotten him in trouble in the past; but he also got a reputation out of it.

 

Keith wasn’t a coward. But he didn’t like using his words to explain himself. Doing things always made more sense than trying to talk them out. That’s how he did things; it was the reason why he could complete flight simulations in his sleep, and the reason why back in the Garrison sometimes Shiro had been forced to honest to God ambush him, just to make him sit and study.

 

“Use your words,” Shiro would tell him, when Keith mulishly refused to explain why he had skipped lessons, why he had gotten into another fight, why he had been rude to the girl in the other class. But words and thoughts and reasonings started melting together, gluing his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and he shrugged, leaving Shiro to shake his head with an exasperated but fond smile. “Patience yields focus. You’ll figure it out.”

 

And figure it out he did, or so he thought.

 

He thought the answer was bluntness. Most people didn’t like being on the other end of a direct question, so they either gave a straight answer back, or they flat out refused to engage. It suited Keith well; it gave him stuff to work with, and it kept the talking to a minimum. It didn’t help him to make friends, but he didn’t need any; Shiro didn’t mind his rough edges, and the other superiors didn’t care for his lack of a winning personality, as long as he could pilot.

 

(Then Shiro graduated, and he was gone; the Kerberos Mission failed, and he was gone. Keith went from blunt to downright aggressive; the same superiors who appreciated him for his talent started berating him for his insubordination, and then- but that was a story for another time.)

 

Voltron changed him. Or maybe it had been going back to living in close quarters with other humans after years spent in the desert. After years, there was talking again.

 

“I need a favour,” he had told Lance, gathering up all his nerve. “Can you kiss me?” he had asked, quick like ripping off a band aid. Beating around the bush was useless; even after all that time spent mind-melding through Voltron, Keith hadn’t gotten better at communicating his thoughts.

 

“Why did you really ask me to kiss you?”

 

Blunt. Keith knew why people hated being asked direct questions.

 

That first time, Keith had been bracing himself for rejection. He had been aware that it would’ve been the most likely outcome, and had prepared himself accordingly. He expected to be ridiculed. He expected to the very least to be questioned, eyed with suspicion. He was ready.

 

But Lance had just blinked up at him, fiddling with the rag that had been using until that moment to polish the healing pod’s plexiglass shell, and told him that sure, he could kiss him, but they maybe should’ve moved in a more comfortable place for that; he had him sit on the steps before the pod, waited for him to overcome the sudden nervousness that had hit his gut like a bucket of ice water; he had touched his face, a reassuring, if teasing, smile on his lips.

 

And then he had kissed him. No questions asked.

 

“I told you why,” Keith lied, wincing at the sound of his scratchy voice.

 

He never told Lance that he had spent weeks lying in bed, sleepless and anxious, unable to stop his thoughts from wandering in the darkest corners of his mind, where irrational fears festered and bred with the deepest regrets, the most ancient heartache; things that he thought had made his peace with, coming back to haunt him in a moment of weakness.

 

He never told him of how he missed Earth- no, how he missed the concept of it. Of how often he thought about the fact that he should’ve been somewhere in the desert, looking the sun set behind the sandy horizon, instead of counting the days that separated him from certain, violent death in space, fighting a war that nobody else could fight.

 

He had been on the verge of being the youngest fighter pilot to ever ace level A simulations, but Keith was also a kid who had never been touched, who fantasized about finding love, who wanted to know what it felt like to fall asleep beside someone he trusted, feeling safe and loved. A kid who looked at the expanse of Shiro’s back, at Hunk’s bulging muscle as he moved him out of the way as if he didn’t weigh nothing, at Lance’s delicate collarbones, and wanted.

 

He just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss a boy. The craving for intimacy, the way it made his skin feel tight and uncomfortable, seemed very stupid and childish, when he put it like that.

 

“Maybe,” Lance conceded, unsure. “Maybe you did, the first time. But then what?”

 

But then something happened. Something that Keith still didn’t know how to deal with.

 

He originally went to Lance, because he didn’t know who else to ask. He just couldn’t ask Shiro (especially because he was dead sure that he wouldn’t have turned him away, if only to satisfy his curiosity; he had always encouraged Keith to explore sides of his personality, always trying to help, but Keith didn’t know how to feel if Shiro had offered to help even in that occasion); Hunk was too shy, and had that thing going on with that alien- it just seemed rude to interfere with that. Lance was a constant flirt and seemed to know his ways around the ladies; for all their bickering, Keith knew that he could trust him with his life. A kiss was much less than that.

 

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. But Keith couldn’t stop thinking about the way Lance had grabbed his wrists, then touched his neck, that huffed laugh and exasperated smile as he teased him; the feeling of rightness that had melted through his body when Lance had finally pressed his mouth against his. Something had cracked within Keith after that, and since then he could feel that something sing under his skin every time that he looked at Lance.

 

It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but it had turned out that touch was addictive. Kissing, cuddling, sometimes just being in the same room together just made Keith feel better. When the loneliness came creeping in the darkness like a monster from under a child’s bed, Keith just had to get up and knock on Lance’s door, and the warmth of his smile kept the monsters at bay.

 

Keith knew that it meant something.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, okay,” Lance drawled, in that casual tone that always put Keith on edge, for how carefully it was crafted. “It was kinda weird, but I mean, there is weirder stuff around - what’s a bit of cuddling and swapping spit between friends - I just wanted to know what’s your angle, Kogane, because it definitely wasn’t a Keith thing to do.”

 

“I just wanted-” Keith started, and then realized that he couldn’t put it into words. He looked up at Lance, desperately trying to get his tongue to cooperate. “It felt good,” he finished, lamely.

 

Lance chuckled. “I understand,” he said with a smile, suddenly staring at him, blue eyes filled with something that Keith didn’t recognize, but could’ve been hurt. “So, it’s just to take the edge off.” It sounded so flat and unlike Lance it made Keith flinch.

 

He had been so selfish, hadn’t he? He had made Lance feel used. He had been living in a little bubble made of his bright, amused expressions, his warm hands and his kind mouth, and he had never worried to give something back.

 

“I’m- look, I’m not saying that,” he tried again. “I- You’ve been so good to me, Lance, and-”

 

“Look, it doesn’t matter, okay?” Lance interrupted him, getting up and stretching as he walked towards the doors. “Sorry I asked. I thought that maybe-” he cut himself off with a groan. “Never mind. I’m hitting the showers. See you at dinner.” He waved without turning back and just like that he was gone.

 

Keith stared at the doors for a long time after Lance had left the room, before curling up with his head between his knees and cursing himself.