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The thing about immortal life is that it can get real boring, real fast, if you’re not careful. Lance would know.
God, in the beginning? Lance was almost a completely different person. Sad all the time, depressed as hell—watching the people you love grow old and die can do that to a person.
But he spent such a long time wallowing about them after that. Just decades of drifting around aimlessly, sleeping all day and walking all night, looking for a purpose.
Horribly, dreadfully boring. That’s why it was so enlightening when Lance finally discovered something fun.
Keith Kogane’s been around as long as Lance has—longer, if the rumors are to be believed—and right around the time when Lance was debating stepping into sunlight and going out in a blaze of glory, he met Keith.
Keith is… well, he’s a bit of an asshole. He’s brooding and angry and a wonderfully good fuck, which Lance doesn’t need rumors to know is true. He discovered that bit of knowledge firsthand.
It was an amazing night, two—or was it three?—hundred years ago. Just the two of them behind locked doors, going at it like a couple of animals. Lance can barely remember the conversation that led them to that bedroom now, but he remembers clearly the conversation they’d had at the end of it.
“Where are you going?” Lance had said, laughing where he lounged on the bed. Keith had been pulling on his clothes, tightening his suspenders and pulling his socks up to his knees.
“Out,” Keith had said simply, as if Lance hadn’t had him writhing and crying out for a God whose name he couldn’t speak a mere hour ago.
Lance had scoffed. “In the daylight?” he’d said. “Sure.”
Keith had just grinned at him. “I have this,” he’d said, raising his hand, and a silver ring had winked at Lance in the dull light of the room. “I’ll be back.”
Lance had stared at him. Had stared at the ring. He’d heard of such rings before, of course. Well before his time, there’d been witches. Plenty of them. And for certain favors, they’d perform incredible magic—such as infusing a ring with resistance against daylight. Granting a creature damned to the night the ability to feel the warmth of the sun again.
Don’t get Lance wrong. He’s a good person, generally. He only takes blood that he needs, and only from willing participants. He doesn’t even kill them afterwards—not like they all used to do in the olden days, leaving bodies in allies and families heartbroken.
He’s polite at grocery stores, and he yields for pedestrians. He feeds his cat top shelf cat food and he signs petitions when he sees them going around on the internet—the whole nine yards, really.
But all those years ago, after having been trapped in the darkness, yet to see a single sunrise in nearly a hundred years, he’d snapped.
It’d been quick, because Keith hadn’t been expecting it. Just a simple snap of his neck (which everyone knows can’t really kill a vampire), a half-hearted apology as he’d slipped the ring off his finger, and a breathless gasp torn from his chest as he’d stepped out into the light of day without going up in flames.
Yeah, it’d been a mean, greedy decision. But it was one he didn’t regret.
Even today, Lance doesn’t regret it, even if it does mean that his life is a near constant struggle. If he has the ring, he’s on the run. Forced to lay low and hope Keith doesn’t find him for a while, seeking revenge. And if he doesn’t have the ring, he’s on the hunt. Looking far and wide for Keith, though, granted, only in the night time.
In the beginning, Keith had been murderous. He’d come after Lance with a stake in one hand and a torch in the other, ready to end Lance’s immortal life for good just to get his ring back. Lance, being the smart person that he was, surrendered the ring well before Keith could get in murdering distance of him.
It’d continued like that for a while, sure, but nowadays they were much more cordial about it. It was more like a big, years-long game of hide-and-seek, wherein the loser had to give up the ring once found, and as a consolation prize, they got fucked within an inch of their life.
So, it’s not all bad, considering. At least when you get found, it’s a night to remember for more than one reason.
Lance has had the ring for 1,865 days now—or, a little over five years. The ring allows him to walk in daylight, sure, and it even lets him show up in mirrors, but not even witch magic can stop the insane urge to count all the time. Nor does it allow him to say the name of God, damned as he is.
It’s not the longest stint Lance has spent with the ring, but it’s getting there. The shortest he’s ever had was a mere two weeks, and the sex was angry and vengeful when Keith found him. These days, he often wonders what it’ll be like when Keith finds him now.
Soft and slow, to make up for just how long it’s been?
Teasing? Torturous? To punish Lance for hiding so well?
Hard and fast, filled with all the passion that’s built up over these last few years?
Lance knows that living without the daylight ring is a much harder existence. He can remember clearly how it feels to be confined to the night, how he dreads the turn of the Earth and will begin to hate the confines of his own home, with its blackout curtains and the taunting sounds of life continuing outside, during the day, without him.
Despite all this, he can’t wait for Keith to find him again.
“Are you even paying attention?” Pidge snaps, making Lance blink out of his reverie and focus on the person before him. He usually avoids making human friends—it only leads to heartbreak, a lesson he’s learned way too many times before now—but it can be hard not to. He forgets how different they are, how lively and emotional, how brightly they burn. They live so intensely, and sometimes it feels nice to get wrapped up in that intensity with them.
Plus, it’s kind of hard to ditch a human who knows you’re a vampire. Pidge is scarily smart, and Lance never stood a chance.
“Of course I’m listening,” Lance says, stealing one of Pidge’s fries. It tastes like ash in his mouth, as all human food does, but it’s worth it simply to annoy his friend. Pidge scoots the plate closer to herself, glaring at Lance almost scarily enough to be considered foreboding.
“Right,” she says sarcastically. “So then you’re not at all worried about the super creepy dude staring at us?”
“Where?”
“Behind me,” Pidge scoffs, but the only people behind Pidge are those occupying the dance floor, gleaming with sweat and smelling of life. Which reminds him—
“I’m gonna go get a snack.”
“That doesn’t sound any less creepy any time you say it,” Pidge advises him.
“Whatever. Do you want me to wait until Hunk gets here or are you good on your own?”
“Just go, drama queen. Suck the life out of someone. Have fun.”
Lance grumbles under his breath as he slides out of the booth, knowing that Pidge knows damn well that no one here is going to die tonight. Or even remember getting bitten.
It only takes about fifteen minutes of occupying the dance floor before Lance finds someone willing to to step into the bathroom with him. She’s tall and blonde, and her dress is sinfully tight, which is probably the best thing about this millennium. Nothing like those huge dresses and their impossible corsets from the 1800s.
She giggles as the door closes behind them, the music from the dance floor muffled but still rattling the walls.
“You’re hot,” she breathes against Lance’s mouth, and he hums against hers, hungry enough not to mention the fact that, actually, he’s pretty cold. You know, being dead and all.
They only make out for a few minutes before Lance kisses along her jaw, down the column of her throat. Her skin is soft, sweet-smelling, and she moans when he grazes his teeth along it. Her breath hitches as they sink in, hot, delicious blood filling his mouth.
Now he’s moaning too, and her hands are tight against his arms as she breathes heavily. It’s a heady rush, like always. Tasting like the heaven he’ll never reach, the warmth he’ll never possess. A sharp, spicy scent and the thudding of a heart—or shoes on the floor.
Lance laves against her neck as he pulls away, straightening as he holds her up against the stall doors as she regains her balance.
“You snuck into the bathroom to make out for a bit,” Lance tells her, when she opens her eyes. Her pupils dilate as he speaks. “You didn’t go any further than that. You didn’t want to.”
“I didn’t want to,” she repeats, dazed.
“Go have fun,” Lance says, directing her to the door, and she spins a little tipsily, the music growing louder as the door opens.
A moment passes.
“Nice of you to let me finish my meal,” Lance says.
“How’d you know it was me?” Keith asks. He steps out of the stall he was standing in. He would’ve been visible in the mirror were he wearing the ring.
“You’ve been using the same cologne for a century—it’s hard to miss,” Lance says. Plus, I could hear your footsteps. “Also, my friend noticed someone staring at us earlier. I had a feeling.”
Keith looks good. His hair is definitely something that could’ve come from the ‘80s, but then, he’s never been the best at keeping up with the trends. He’s had it cut like this since the turn of the millennium. He’s gotten a few piercings since Lance last saw him, and his jeans are stylishly ripped, paired with combat boots and a red leather jacket.
“Guess this’ll be yours in the morning,” Lance says, raising the finger with the ring. It’s his middle finger.
“Funny,” Keith says, and he opens the door for Lance, gesturing him through it sardonically.
“I knew you missed my humor,” Lance says lightly, and he leads the way out of the bathroom. Keith trails after him through the teeming crowd, keeping close as if Lance would actually attempt to run away. Neither of them have done that since the early days of their rivalry.
Lance stops by Pidge’s table—now with Hunk—without consulting Keith first, and he halts next to Lance abruptly, obviously surprised.
“I’m headed out,” Lance warns them. “Also, I probably won’t see you for a couple years. At least during the day.”
“What the fuck?”
“This is Keith, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you,” Keith says awkwardly.
“Hold up,” says Hunk. “What?”
Hunk, unfortunately, is another human Lance befriended. Maybe he’ll turn them both into vampires one day. Put off having to mourn their deaths for a few hundred years.
“You guys remember that rivalry I told you about. With the ring?”
“Wait, this is the guy?” Pidge says. And then, “He’s the stalker that I saw!”
Keith, looking offended, says, “I’m not a stalker.”
Lance slings an arm around his shoulders. “You kind of are,” he says sympathetically. “Anyway. See ya.” He throws his friends a peace sign, both of them looking dumbstruck, and leads Keith the rest of the way out of the bar.
They’ve got a lot to talk about. What they’ve been up to the past few years, how Keith managed to track him down, but they usually leave that stuff for after. Right now, Lance can feel the tension building, the energy running rampant between the two of them as Lance directs them both to his apartment, pointing out his favorite coffee shop, the places he’s picked up part time jobs, and the college he enrolled in just for fun.
“Mi casa es su casa and all that jazz,” he says, stepping into his apartment.
“Ha ha,” Keith says, unamused, standing outside the threshold. “Invite me in for real.”
“Man, I forgot about that,” Lance says. “It’s just been so long since I’ve had to be invited in anywhere…”
Keith glares at him, obviously still waiting, and Lance sighs dramatically. “Whatever, sheesh. Keith, my dearest, you are very much welcome into my humble abode. Come on in.”
Keith steps deliberately over the threshold, closing the door behind him and looking around. Blue, previously lounging on the counter, shoots off of it and darts under the nearest armchair.
“Don’t tell me that’s the same cat,” Keith says.
“There’s no law saying you can’t use vampire blood to extend your cat’s life,” Lance says stiffly. “She’s only a couple decades old.”
“She should at least be used to me by now,” Keith grumbles, obviously butthurt, but Blue doesn’t come out to greet him, rightfully so. She appreciates much more dignified company.
“Come on,” Lance says, turning away from Keith to lead him to the bedroom, but he only manages to take a step before Keith’s has him face-first against a wall, his teeth pressed threateningly against his neck. Lance groans. “Couldn’t wait for the bedroom?”
“I’ve waited five years,” Keith growls, his hands already roaming over Lance’s stomach, one sliding under his shirt and then up his chest, circling tauntingly around a nipple.
Keith’s fangs just barely dig into Lance’s throat, grazing the skin, and he should be annoyed. He would be annoyed, were it any other vampire. It’s generally a great sign of disrespect, but between them…
Well, between them, it’s just hot.
Lance moans, arching against Keith and basking in the feeling of his hands on his body, before he manages to break free. He grips Keith’s wrists, twists them around, and has Keith up against the wall—arms pinned over his head—as he grins down at him. Keith bares his teeth.
“I was wondering what took you so long,” Lance says, grinding down against him. Keith’s eyes flutter shut with a groan, his hands twitching in Lance’s grasp, but he doesn’t break free. “I mean, I didn’t hide very well, did I? I lived in this same apartment, a century ago. I enrolled in the school here, worked in the stores here. How come you didn’t find me?”
“Maybe I wasn’t looking,” Keith taunts, and Lance pulls away from him as punishment, making Keith arch toward him, whining low in his throat.
“Liar,” Lance says, and he keeps them like that for a moment longer—until Keith’s mouth drops open, until he pants for breath he doesn’t need—before he closes the space between them again, grinding against Keith harshly.
“Lance,” Keith says, his voice weak and tinny with desperation, and Lance grants him a kiss, bending down and pressing their lips together all too lightly.
Keith isn’t having it. The next moment, they’re pressed against the opposite wall, Keith boxing him in again, and Lance lets him. They’re kissing furiously, teeth sharp against each other’s lips, tongues hotter than the rest of them put together, and Lance wraps his legs around Keith’s waist, grinding up against him as Keith holds him against the wall.
“Bedroom,” Lance says. “I want a bed.”
“Not a counter?” Keith teases. “I remember a summer night a few decades ago…”
Lance groans, remembering it too, and it’s almost enough to change his mind. Keith had been bent over the counter then, his hands gripping the other side of it so tightly that the marble had cracked.
But it’s been too long. Lance wants it hard and fast, sure, but he also wants it slow. He wants it torturously slow, until his body is shaking and his brain feels numb to anything but need, like the hunger for blood after several days too long but worse. He wants to want it so bad that he’ll beg, that he’ll hold Keith as tightly as he can with tears in his eyes and pleas in his throat as he whispers for him to please, please fuck him—fuck him right—until Keith finally relents, slamming into him so hard and so fast that although Lance swears he’s screaming at the top of his lungs, no sound comes out.
And that, he feels, is best accomplished on a bed.
“Bed, bed, bed,” Lance chants, and Keith rolls his eyes, used to Lance’s antics by now, and carries Lance off down the hallway. He opens the first door he comes across, and Lance stops him with a hand on the doorway, making Keith jerk to a halt. “This is the office,” he says.
Keith eyes the leather chair behind the wooden desk contemplatively.
“Next time,” Lance pleads.
“You probably won’t own this chair next time,” Keith says plaintively.
“In the morning, then,” Lance says.
Keith huffs, and he starts off down the hall again, obediently correcting his course when Lance says “bathroom” and then “closet” as he approaches the wrong doors.
Finally, they make it to the bedroom. Lance won’t lie and say that he hasn’t thought of this moment before.
The bedroom didn’t look like this when Lance rented out the apartment a century ago. It’s a huge bed, this time, with silk sheets and an expensive mattress and—
“Holy shit,” Keith says, his eyes scanning the room.
Holy shit is right. There are a lot of mirrors, to be fair. On the closet doors, covering a separate, entire wall. And Keith hasn’t even looked at the ceiling yet.
“This is kind of narcissistic,” Keith concludes.
“Rude,” Lance says. “When you spend half your life unable to see yourself in mirrors, you learn to appreciate the times when you can.”
Indeed, despite all the mirrors in the room, they’re currently only reflecting Lance. A floating Lance, wrapped around an invisible Keith, who’s still carrying him.
“No wonder you wanted the bedroom,” Keith scoffs, but he deposits Lance onto the bed without further argument, looking down at him thoughtfully.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Nothing,” Keith says. “Just getting a good look at you.”
“Aww,” Lance says. “And I’m not even naked yet.”
Keith rolls his eyes, which is a mistake on his part, because the second he’s not fully concentrated on him, Lance shoots to his feet. He pushes Keith’s jacket off his shoulders and has his hands halfway up Keith’s shirt by the time Keith can even react. He ends up helping, shrugging it off before pushing Lance to the bed.
“I figure you want to keep the ring on for tonight,” he says.
“If you don’t mind,” Lance says, panting already. It’s funny, he never seems to breathe except when Keith’s around, pressing against him and making him forget that he’s not human, that he doesn’t need to.
Lance can see himself clearly in the mirror on the ceiling. It looks like he’s just laying there, grinding up against nothing. And when Keith tears his shirt open—literally tears it, buttons flying everywhere—it looks like that happened on its own accord, too.
“That was expensive,” Lance breathes.
“Sorry,” Keith says, not sounding very sorry at all. His lips are already against Lance’s again, his tongue pressing inside, his hands sliding down Lance’s chest, working against the button of his jeans.
Lance lifts up when Keith has them undone, and Keith pulls everything down at once, leaving Lance naked on the bed, hard and desperate.
“You want me to go slow, don’t you?” Keith guesses, and his hands are working on his own jeans now, Lance’s eyes tripping down his chest, over his stomach, locking onto his hands as they move.
“Yes.”
“You want me to make you beg,” Keith says. “You want to be so riled up that you think you’ll die. That you think you can’t possibly wait another moment without bursting into flames.”
Lance gasps, arching up into the hand that’s found its way to his cock. “Yes, yes, ” he says, and Keith laughs, stroking him faster.
“Too bad,” he says. “By the end of the night, you’ll be begging me to stop.”
Lance moans, and Keith disappears for maybe half a second, though it feels like an eternity. He only stepped away to grab the lube—of course he’d know where Lance keeps it, after all these years—but Lance wants him so badly already, wants to feel him tomorrow and the next day and the day after that, even with his advanced healing.
The lube is cold when Keith presses his fingers into him, because without much body heat to warm it up, there’s nothing he could’ve done. But Lance has learned to love this feeling over the years, the icy feeling of Keith’s touch on him and in him, so different from the burning inferno of desire inside him.
“Fuck,” Lance says, because Keith skipped one finger and went straight to two. He’s pressing inside of him, already fucking him hard and fast with just his fingers. He’s great at this. The best Lance has ever had, in fact, because after all the years they’ve spent chasing after one another, they’ve learned each other’s bodies exquisitely.
Like how Lance knows that when he’s pressed inside of Keith, Keith finds it hard to speak. He’ll gasp and moan and his lips will move silently, unable to form the words to ask Lance to go harder, faster, please.
Or how he’s the complete opposite when Lance has him on his stomach, his tongue up his ass as Keith begs and begs for more, Lance, please, fuck!
But then, Keith knows Lance just as well. His fingers find his prostate like it was just yesterday when they last fucked. His mouth finds that one spot on his neck, the spot that has always been just a little more sensitive and where, coincidentally, he was bitten all those years ago. He knows just what Lance wants, every time, and just how to make Lance wait for it, how to touch and tease and taunt Lance, giving him everything except what he wants most until Lance is limp and lifeless, weak to the bone and twitching against him, so close to cumming that he can hardly think of how to get there himself.
Keith abuses this knowledge now. He has three fingers inside of Lance, rubbing steadily against Lance’s prostate as Lance grinds down on his fingers in between bouts of trying to twist away from it, the pleasure too great, too intense, too relentless to bear.
It’s while Lance is arching up, trying in vain to catch the breath he doesn’t need, that Keith bends down and envelopes Lance’s cock in his mouth in one fell swoop, sinking all the way down immediately and swallowing around Lance.
Lance cries out, slamming down on Keith’s fingers, and that’s when he cums without even meaning to, twitching around Keith’s and exploding down his throat, the warmth of Keith’s mouth far too hot compared to the cold of his fingers, his tongue laving against Lance even as he pulls away.
“Shit,” Lance says as Keith sits up, his fingers still inside of him. “I didn’t mean to—I guess it’s been a while, but—”
Keith laughs. “I meant for you to. I told you I’d have you begging to stop, didn’t I?”
Lance pouts, because this isn’t the slow and torturous reunion he’d imagined, but before he can say anything, Keith slides his fingers out of him and replaces it with his cock, slicked up with lube when Lance wasn’t paying attention.
“Oh my—fuck,” Lance says, and Keith grins down at him, his teeth sharp and wicked and sadly not digging into Lance’s throat at that exact moment.
“I missed you,” Keith says simply, and then he’s moving, fucking Lance hard and fast and without a care in the world. It’s too much. He’s too sensitive, pain and pleasure warring inside him even as he moans.
Uselessly, he tries to move away, but Keith has his wrists pinned against the bed as he fucks into him, and then Lance finds himself pressing closer, wanting more of the pleasure-pain as much as he wants to escape it.
When Keith bends down, Lance angles his mouth accordingly, searching for his lips, but Keith ducks to the side at the last moment, and his breath feels hot against Lance’s throat. He whines, and then Keith’s biting into him, the same mix of pleasure and pain that he feels everywhere else.
Lance cries out, arching into Keith even as his hand finds Lance’s cock, stoking much too hard, much too fast, much too soon. Lance’s eyes are clenched shut, his mouth open in a silent moan, when he remembers the mirrors, desperate to get a look.
And there, above him, in front of him, all around him—it’s insane. It’s downright dirty and embarrassing and hot.
He can feel Keith touching him, fucking him, biting him, but in the mirror, his body is bouncing suggestively against the bed for no apparent reason. His cock is straining upward, blood trailing down his throat, his hands pinned above his head by some invisible force.
“Keith,” Lance gasps, and that’s when Keith pulls out of him, flipping him over and pulling him back up. They’re facing the mirror on the wall now, Keith buried inside of him and his chin hooked over Lance’s shoulder, watching Lance in the mirror.
Lance is flushed all over, thanks to the meal he had so recently, and Keith did a sloppy job with his bite on Lance’s neck, meaning the blood is now trailing down his chest, down his stomach…
“You were right,” Keith murmurs, his tongue trailing over Lance’s ear. “The bedroom was a good idea.”
With that, his hand flies over Lance’s cock, moving with superhuman speed, and Lance is still entirely too sensitive, twitching and gasping and trying to twist away from the pleasure when he cums, exploding over his own stomach and gasping at himself in the mirror, clutching at whatever parts of Keith he can reach.
And Keith… he still hasn’t cum. Maybe that’s why it’s taken him five years to find Lance. He was building up his stamina, preparing Lance for the fucking of his life.
It’s a ridiculous thought, one that has Lance laughing tiredly, and only momentarily. Because the next moment Keith has him pressed face down into the bed, one hand splayed over his back as he fucks into Lance harder, faster, gripping Lance’s hips tightly with his free hand.
“You want me to stop yet?” Keith grunts, and Lance moans into the mattress, weakly trying to squirm away. He still can’t make up his mind, wanting it to stop, wanting it to continue, wanting Keith to fuck him until the sun comes up, until he has to force the ring off Lance’s finger.
It’s impossible—far too soon—but Lance can feel his orgasm building up for the third time, even as he cries out with every one of Keith’s thrusts, nailing his prostate.
“Please,” Lance moans.
“Please what?” Keith says, gripping him harder, fucking him faster.
“Don’t stop.”
Keith moans, bending over him, and when Lance cums—clenching around him, gasping his name and pleading in garbled English—Keith cums with him.
It’s still a while after that before he stops. He turns Lance over, sure, and cuddles up close to him, but he slides back in, fucking him slow and careful and tantalizingly gentle, as Lance hovers somewhere between asleep and awake. Lance holds him close, his lips working against Keith’s throat in between nips and occasional, actual bites, and some time later, Keith cums a second time, holding Lance tightly and shaking against him, gasping into his hair.
“You could stay ‘til morning,” Lance suggests, hours later as they lay side by side, tracing each other’s skin. “I’ve created a genius recipe. Blood and coffee.”
Keith snorts against his shoulder. “Like you need any more energy,” he says.
“I’m a student now, Keith,” Lance scoffs. “Finals and things. Studying.”
“‘Cause you need help in history class,” Keith jokes. And then, a moment later, “Actually, I really wasn’t looking for you these past few years.”
Lance freezes. The words seem to pierce his skin, and he suddenly feels too close to Keith, too naked. Way too vulnerable.
“I was looking for another ring,” Keith continues. “And I found one. It’s in my jacket.”
It takes a minute for Lance to find his voice. “You found one?”
Keith nods. His fingers are still tracing invisible patterns over Lance’s skin.
“But then… we wouldn’t need to hunt each other anymore.”
“Exactly,” Keith agrees.
Something inside Lance breaks. His heart, maybe, if he still has one. It’s ridiculous, honestly. He shouldn’t feel this way about Keith. They’re rivals. They’re only in this for the ring, and Lance should hate him, should hate that he hasn’t had the courage to kill him, to keep the ring for himself indefinitely, but he could never bring himself to do it. Never wanted to do it.
“Okay,” Lance manages. Clears his throat. “So then… when will we see each other again?”
Keith props himself on his elbow and looks down at Lance.
“I was thinking Friday night. 8:00.”
Lance blinks at him. Keith’s mouth twitches, almost into a smile.
“It’s a date,” Lance says, and Keith grins.
“It’s a date,” he agrees.
And it’s odd, really. Keith spends the whole day with him, wearing his own ring and wandering into patches of sunlight as often as Lance does. He really did find a second, working ring, though Lance hopes he killed the vampire who had it rather than pulling the same trick Lance did on him, all those hundreds of years ago.
It’s a day unlike any Lance has ever experienced before, because Keith’s there and he’s not running. Keith’s there and they aren’t ravenously fucking, like they know they won’t see each other again any time soon.
Not that that means they don’t fuck at all. Lance gets that slow fuck he’d been wanting, and Keith bottoms for Lance in that leather chair, and then again on the counter. They take a shower together, and then a bath, and Lance forces Keith to watch his favorite videos on YouTube before Keith forces him to sit through a documentary about a war they both lived through.
By the end of the day, Blue has decided she likes Keith, and Lance has decided that she is a traitor who deserves bottom-shelf cat food for her actions.
On Friday, Lance meets Keith at his favorite restaurant in town, Keith having left the day after they reunited to go gather his belongings from whatever hotel he’d checked into, and then do some apartment hunting, despite that fact that Lance is pretty sure he’s going to accidentally invite Keith to live with him inappropriately early in their relationship.
When he sees Keith walking toward him down the street, he has this split second thought of I’m caught before remembering all over again that Keith’s not hunting him down, and he’s not hiding from him. They’re here together, for a date on a patio during the sunset.
Plans accumulate in Lance’s mind. The thought of introducing Keith to Hunk and Pidge. Of dragging Keith to his college classes, because there’s always interesting stuff to learn, little details that Lance hadn’t known already. He plans all kinds of dates and adventures, plans to revisit some of his favorite places in the world, this time with Keith. He thinks about taking Keith to all the local clubs, to his favorite stores where he can dress Keith up and dote on him. He thinks of revisiting all the places they’d been together before, the places where he’d been caught, where he’d caught Keith. Where it’d all started.
But as he sits there, grinning a too-sharp grin as Keith slides into the chair across from him, smiling shyly as if they haven’t fucked hundreds of times before, he sets it all on the backburner of his mind. After all, they’ve got a lifetime to do all that together. Several lifetimes, really.
***
