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The drink in his hand was some concoction Keith had never heard of in his entire life — that, he was sure of. It was red, not unlike a Bloody Mary, but a Bloody Mary had a celery stalk, didn’t it? It also didn’t fizz up bubbles like some Wicked Witch of the West kind of shit? Especially large bubbles that spat red chunks of...whatever it was on his costume — he kind of got the motive behind the effect. He was just now utterly terrified of the notion that it might actually kill him.
Lance, what the hell. He thought as something obviously solid floated up to the surface of the drink in his hand. Did he just wing this entire thing up?
To be fair, this party was Lance’s idea and, for how long he has known Lance, winging it seemed like part of his personality — not that Keith has any right to complain, but Keith’s version of winging it involved less possibilities of death via poison and just more around detention.
“Keith!” Speak of the Devil, and he doth appear, wearing...Keith wasn’t going to ask anymore. Ah, he’s always bad at decisions, anyway.
“What—” Keith paused, running his gaze throughout Lance’s costume . “—the hell are you wearing?”
Lance’s arm slid off Keith’s shoulder as he stepped back and gave himself a look. Keith didn’t get it at all — it seemed like a combination of different horror movie characters thrown over into one outfit. Maybe, if it were in a movie and were decidedly of higher quality, then it could be scary. Lance just seemed ridiculous. He said aloud, too.
“You look dumb.” Keith pointed out. Lance’s furrowed, kicking him in the shin with a...motherfucking steel-toed boot. “Jesus, don’t break my leg!”
“So— “ Lance started, and Keith already felt the anxiety crawl up his skin before seeing the glint of amusement in the other’s eyes. It wasn’t even hard to gleam from, Lance was positively shining with it.
“No.”
A roll of the eyes, and Lance scoffed. “Come on, man. It’s Halloween, everyone’s in their costumes, might be a good time to, you know, cop a feel or sneak in a kiss. I’m sure hewon’t mind.”
Keith sneered, more on routine than any outward snark. Lance had designated himself as Keith’s wingman — yes, without Keith’s say whatsoever — in finally letting Shiro know about his huge crush on the guy.
Speaking of Shiro, Keith’s eyes scanned the crowd, gaze hovering over the heads of a few other Garrison cadets and his friends — Pidge was by the drinks, dressed in her usual get-up (save for suddenly screeching at him when he first bumped into her an hour ago; nice Invasion of the Body Snatchers reference.) and he could make out Hunk’s recognizable form anywhere, even when it was in dark robe and his face painted on to look like Pazuzu from The Exorcist.
“How you could come here dressed like that when Allura looks amazing is something that will always bother me.” Keith commented to Lance as his eyes skimmed over Allura and Coran talking to a few other cadets. Allura was in her Queen Amidala costume with Coran in Jedi garbs, and...talking like Yoda.
He expected an elbow to his side, but Lance merely shrugged and threw his hands up, grinning. “Hey, I’m more of an everyman. My costume’s got one for everyone.”
Keith didn’t bother saying what was on his mind — much less if it was the combination monster that was Lance’s costume.
“I think that’s him!” He heard Lance say, and Keith turned to find someone tall by the corner, a few tables from them. He was in some formal garb, not unlike a stage performer — with the jacket, flare pants and the pointed boots — but it looked old and damaged to fit the Halloween vibe. His face was painted to look like a skull, dark hair neatly combed back.
“That’s Shiro?” Lance asked. Keith raised a brow.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Pfft, we all know you could spot Shiro even when you’re blind.”
His face betrayed how flustered he was at the comment, and he scowled, refusing to say anything. Keith knew immediately it was Shiro, though. He knew how the man walked, how he stood and a part of him felt...confused about how important it was for Keith to know all that.
This fucking crush .
Lance eyed him for a bit, before muttering under his breath. “At least Shiro would know it’s you.”
“I’m wearing a costume!”
“Yes, an eye mask. Very well crafted, Nightwing. ”
Keith raised a brow at him. “Would you rather I not attend at all?”
Lance finally elbowed him and Keith coughed at the sudden jolt to his side. Lance walked off to the crowd, talking loudly. “Hopefully, some action happens — you’re way too moody right now.”
Keith gave Lance’s retreating back the finger, before shaking his head and following after, intent to enjoy the party — crushes be damned.
Keith didn’t really know how he ended up in this game — he often thought himself as mature enough not to be goaded into these kinds of things. Somehow, in between several drinks of whatever Lance made, decisions were easily swayed with a smile and push and he found himself in a group, circling around a bottle on the ground.
“Alright! My turn!” He heard someone say, and looked up to find one of the cadets — James — spinning the bottle. They’ve been at this for an hour already, and he’s witnessed more than his share of clumsy kisses between slightly (or maybe not too slightly) inebriated friends to his liking.
He’s also already had his fair share of kisses at this point, already. The last one with Kinkade, and Keith only knew that because the cadet had to pull off his Phantom of the Opera mask for them to actually kiss.
It didn’t help that Shiro was sitting right across him and was staring intently when that happened. Keith didn’t want to ponder on what the hell that meant — like, at all.
There’s a cheer and Keith blinked from his thoughts to watch James lean across the space, face getting closer and it’s not until James’ lips were on Keith’s that he was, once again, the unwitting victim of the game.
“Dude, you okay?” Hunk poked his side, once James had pulled away and Ina was next to spin. Keith cleared his throat, looking away from Shiro’s gaze — did that seem a little bit, Keith flushed, jealous?
“Yeah, m’good. Why?”
Hunk frowned, maybe. Keith didn’t really know. The Pazuzu face paint made it hard to guess — also was starting to get a bit creepy. “You were zoning out.”
Keith shrugged, turning back to the bottle and realizing it was his turn, now. An assortment of faces, almost all in some guise from a famous movie, looked at him expectantly. Lance, in particular, had a not-so-subtle smirk on his face.
It was only one pair of eyes that Keith really cared for, and he felt the gaze burn into the side of his face, refusing to look up. He was already flustered enough with how direct Shiro looked at him.
Clearing his throat, Keith reached out to spin the bottle. Heart in his throat, he refused to look elsewhere but the spinning bottle until it slowed down, stuttered and stopped...pointing at Shiro.
Fucking hell . Keith thought, and he heard a triumphant giggle to the side that sounded too much like Lance .
His face was red, cheeks flushed, and he could feel the sweat pool on his hands. There was a tension to the air, something that made it difficult to breathe easy.
He dared a look up, and found Shiro inching closer, and was that a smile on his lips?
Keith swallowed, unsure of what was happening — no, fuck it, he knew what was happening, he just wasn’t sure as to whether it was real or not. He was really going to kiss Shiro!
Shiro leaned closer, closer than ever, and Keith could hear everyone talking, whispering and he could smell Shiro — so close — and even with the mask on, he’d know it was Shiro any day. Nobody else smelled like him .
A flutter of the eyes, and Shiro paused, an inch away from each other. “Is this okay?”
The quiet question, whispered in low tones, had shivers running down Keith’s back. That was illegal. Very illegal.
And Shiro was asking if it was okay for him to do this, and the certainty in the question has Keith realizing that Shiro knew it was him, too. Him and his rather very obvious crush on Shiro.
Ah, damn it. It was Halloween, there were drinks and he wanted to have fun. Keith wasn’t one to look at a gift horse in the mouth.
Sneaking a hand over Shiro’s neck, gripping the firm collar of his jacket, Keith leaned up to press his lips against the other.
Taken by surprise, a soft whimper escaped Shiro’s lips before he was silenced by Keith’s lips. Eyes closed, Keith continued, angling his head until he felt Shiro’s hand over his, another against his cheek and turning to fit their lips better.
A slip of teeth, a breach of lips, and Keith opened his mouth, allowing himself to taste whatever punch Lance made and something so instinctively hot-wired and red and Shiro.
“Keith. ” A heady, breathy whisper of his name — laced with scarlet desire — escaped between the kisses, and Keith answered with a low groan of his own, pressing against Shiro’s nose, angling up to taste him again, and again and again. Fingers tightening over the collar, Keith pulled him closer, fingers running through his hair, an open-mouthed kiss against the corner of Shiro’s lips, the side of his jaw, a sigh of need against Keith’s temple—
“Um, guys—” Keith paused, all desire turning to stone as his eyes flashed open. He felt Shiro still the same way, and suddenly where they were and what they were doing burst into the forefront and if Keith’s cheeks were already flushed from the kiss then his face was positively bloody at this point because Lance was crimson, and he had a hand pressed against his own mouth, grin too wide. “That was just...um, well. Enthusiastic. ”
Pidge giggled drunkenly off to the side, and Keith sat up, together with Shiro, and they stared at each other. Half of what Shiro had on his face was gone, lost in all the touching and the kissing — his identity was clear as day. His eyes fell down to Shiro’s hand — where Keith’s own mask was being fiddled on by deft fingers. His own face was bare.
“Yeah, the rule was just a smooch.” Romelle muttered. Her mask was off, and she was using it as a makeshift fan. “I wasn’t expecting to see porn.”
“Oh, my God.” Keith whispered and dropped his head as everyone cackled, all the earlier awkwardness gone. Tipsy and riding off the high of the energies around, nobody seemed to take what they had seen as anything weird.
Keith looked up, willing his face to be clear even though he was sure it was redder than Mars at this point. Hell, his face can be its own Red Giant.
Shiro’s lips were curled in a crooked smile, and his eyes were shining. Nothing weird was flittering, no shock — no disgust, nothing. Just something hot and electric and as delectable as his own blush.
“I’m gonna get some water.” Keith announced, unable to deal with that even though he was this close to climbing into Shiro’s lap to continue what they were doing—ahem, that was the booze talking. Without waiting for anyone else’s approval, he stood and hurriedly made his way into the kitchen, laughter nipping at his heels.
He’d just grab a glass, take a breath and go back and everything will be fine. Thank God, nobody was in the kitchen.
It would have been fine, until he heard Allura and her melodious voice—
“Shiro, darling, can you please grab me something to drink, too?”
She. Was. The. Devil. Keith thought as he heard Shiro agree, and turned around just as Shiro ambled into view. He wasn’t wearing the jacket anymore, and Keith bit his lips at the V-neck shirt and the expanse of chest. Shiro’s hair was a mess — from Keith’s groping, oh god — and...nobody was around. Except them.
It was a good thing the bottle in his hands didn’t break (though he wasn’t really sure what happened to it, though).
He also didn’t know what happened then, but thoughts of drinks disappeared.
Funny, he was sure he was thirsty. Keith told himself to think about that later, after he was done mapping Shiro’s mouth again. Pressed against the kitchen wall. Yes, that’s right.
“I really, really like you.” Shiro admitted, in between kisses. His face was a literal mess of paint right now and all Keith could think about was how he’d be so happy to clean that all up… with his tongue. Oh God.
Dumbly, Keith responded. “I really, really like you, too.”
And proceeded to do suck a hickey into Shiro’s jaw. A giggle, the press of their bodies against each other, knees bumping against the wall and a stray “please don’t do it on my dinner table” that they both chose to ignore.
Keith found himself on the opposite side now, with his own back to the wall and Shiro’s lips by his temple, down his jaw and near his ear.
“Coffee, tomorrow?”
Keith slipped a hand up under Shiro’s shirt, feeling the muscles of his belly. Shiro’s hips pushed against Keith’s, into the wall, and Keith swallowed a giggle as Shiro’s arms wrapped themselves around his waist. Pulling him off the wall, they swayed on the spot to the music playing quietly in the background.
There was another cheer from their friends — probably Coran having to kiss Hunk, maybe — but that didn’t really matter to either of them, not at the moment.
“Coffee, and dinner?” Keith suggested, cheek pressed against Shiro’s shoulder. He raised his head and felt Shiro press his lips against Keith’s temple.
“That sounds great.”
Just about right, and everything else was better. Keith would make sure of it, although.
“God, Lance is never letting this go ever.” Keith griped, shoulders slacking in defeat.
Shiro’s belly-deep laugh and the grip of his arms around Keith’s waist was worth it, though. So, so, worth it.