Chapter Text
Lance McClain doesn’t have many regrets. If he did, he’s positive he wouldn’t be where he is today. Wouldn’t have moved out to California at seventeen, despite his family’s pleas for him to stay. His audition for Death of a Thousand Roses would have never stumbled on his doorstep. Each event that followed afterward depended on a cutthroat decision he had to make in the past.
So no, Lance doesn’t usually harbor regrets.
But as Keith Kogane walks out of his hotel suite, he realizes just how much he would undo to pull him back in by his tacky button up top and kiss him square on the mouth.
Lance can’t count on his fingers how much money he would give to dance with Keith one last time, to feel the curve of his hip cock in his open palm, to hear another sarcastic remark spill from his thin lips that desperately needed chapstick a majority of the time.
For the first time since his ‘unbeatable career’ skyrocketed past all expectations, he feels like he failed.
Not only failed himself, but Keith too.
There was a connection between them. No matter how much of an indescribable diva Lance is, he’s never felt the way he feels with Keith. Acting never stopped him from dating, but those relationships left him with a gaping hole in his chest, nothing suitable enough to fill it back up.
Everyone he met before Keith had just been the same stories written in different point of views. Another actor from Hollywood, a retired movie stars wanting an exclusive ‘in’ back into stardom, the latest up and coming pop star. They all used Lance’s platform, rather than… anything else.
But Keith studies astrophysics. Hell, he’s in college, working his way to a degree and a job that doesn’t require pounds of make-up and camera ready faces. Keith despises everything about Lance’s career. And while it should be insulting, it’s a breath of fresh air, a splash of cold water that takes Lance by the ankles and drags him back down to Earth.
So, yes. He should have kissed Keith. With every minute that passes, the regret builds a higher temple in the pit of his stomach, fighting to crawl up his throat. Hunk speaks of his next day of filming in Dubai, but all Lance’s mind can possibly wrap itself around is the possibility of his never having regrets finally catching up to him.
“Lance. You leave tonight.”
He returns to the present situation regretfully (there it goes), eyes slowly raising to where his bodyguard stands.
“Yes?”
“You leave tonight!” Hunk exclaims, and Lance realizes that he’s probably had to repeat himself from the tone he takes, a lick of annoyance laced in, “I have to brief you on everything or else Allura is going to kill me!”
“She won’t kill you if I tell her not to,” Lance reminds him, to which Hunk only groans, throwing himself back into the lounge chair across from him. Lance and Allura have a… special relationship. The young actor is more than aware of how valuable a client he is, and how much Allura would suffer if he were to walk out on her services. Their exchanges usually end in an ‘if this doesn’t happen I’m dropping your agency’ fashion more that one would expect.
“Your methods will eventually bite you in the ass.” One of Hunk’s fingertips raise, waving it at Lance with what he assumes is supposed to be disappointment.
“This ass—” Lance turns effortlessly to point at his buttocks, not a hint of joy in his voice, “—is ensured.”
“That has none of its usual spunk,” his friend’s demeanor shifts to one of concern as Lance flops back into his original position, “what’s wrong?”
A sigh tumbles from Lance’s mouth, weighing his options in his mind. He could tell Hunk about Keith; he’s certainly had his drunken rant or two with the older man. He supposes the only difference is that he’s sober this time. And that the heartbreak actually hurts.
“Do you…” Lance sighs again, nimble fingertips reaching to press against his temple as he attempts to gather his thoughts, “Hunk. I have regrets.”
“So do I. I regret taking this job every day.”
A smile quirks in the corner of Lance’s mouth as he narrows his eyes at Hunk, who returns a friendly expression, urging him to go on.
“Remember that night I ran away from you? Went on my own little adventure and came back all stupid happy?”
“You mean the night I almost lost my job?”
He laughs, despite the serious undertones that lie in Hunk’s statement. “Yeah, that night.”
“You met someone, didn’t you?”
“The pouty grumpy kid we were making fun of,” Lance says. He regrets calling him that, teasing him for his little attitude. There's so much more to learn, so many layers he’d yet to peel away.
“Not very pouty and grumpy was he,” Hunk says, and the brunette sags his head, chin perched in his open palm.
“I feel like… like my entire world has turned itself up on its ass, and I can’t see anything other than him. Hunk, he’s an astronomy major. Do you know how fucking sick that is? I don’t think I can even understand elementary physics, and he sat there on the beach with me complaining about space physics . And he’s got this hair that just—it’s perfect Hunk. It’s shit out of movies. And I would know, you know?”
“I know. ”
“And he wasn’t pouty once we got along! He’s funny, and he’s sweet, and he’s a little stubborn, but—”
“What’s his name, Lance?”
“Keith.” The name leaves his mouth the same way it did when the door shut; broken and longing. “Keith Kogane.”
Hunk nods, brows curved into amused arcs. Lance can’t imagine what he’s thinking right now. Well… that’s a lie. It’s probable Hunk assumes that this was another one of his enigmatic hookups. Wild nights and exotic lovers that usually ended up with him picking Lance up from whoever’s house he ended up in.
It didn’t go down so well in the press.
“It’s not like that,” he says, fighting to reassure him, “we…”
Lance’s gut wrenches.
“We didn’t even kiss.”
To this, Hunk’s attention peaks in curiosity.
“You didn’t kiss him?”
“I kicked him out! Because you were coming. I just—I can’t get the look on his face out of my head. I hadn’t seen him frown until I shut that door.”
“So you regret not kissing him?”
“It’s eating me alive, man.”
Hunk nods. This is new for both of them. Lance hasn’t been known to be completely candid with his emotions. He’s a crowd pleaser; the crowd asks, he gives. There’s no room for having a temper tantrum or sobbing his eyes out in the middle of the green room. He has a job to do, and he does it too damn well to think about everything else.
His attraction to Keith doesn’t come as a surprise. Upon their first meeting, Keith’s sass was beyond everything he’d ever seen in his life. Sure, not everyone he meets will be a fan of him, but with him, he felt that energy tenfold. Every emotion that the younger man feels is on a scale so beyond average. Keith’s feelings are bright; they demand to be seen and heard. No darkness can consume them, and Lance loves that.
“I literally just wanna lay on the floor, and let a steamroller have at it.”
“That’s a little dramatic—”
“ Take my body—! ” He cries out before Hunk interrupts him with a harsh snap of his fingers.
“Hey, snap out of it. You’re wallowing like a little bitch, and I hate it. What the hell are you doing? Get up, and find him .”
Lance groans. “Hunk, it’s not that simple. He’s leaving today, just like me.”
“You’re leaving in two hours.”
He blinks, sitting up in his seat.
“Two hours?”
Hunk affirms his statement with a nod and a smirk that curls along his jaw.
“I’m sure the hotel he’s at arranged his cab.”
“It’s worth a try.” Lance barely takes a breath before he’s up and out of his seat, snatching his jeans jacket and pulling it over his worn pajama shirt and cotton shorts. He shouldn’t be going out like this. Press will most likely be lurking, and if he isn’t careful, a handful of fans as well.
“Hunk—” Lance starts, but Hunk shakes his head in disapproval as he grabs his own coat.
“Jump first, think later, Lance.”
Lance let’s Hunk help him formulate the plan to locate Keith. This, because Lance is that of a hyperactive child with this chance making itself present. He feels like he’s in a movie (not acting in one), and the rush of it all leaves him useless. Lance doesn’t disagree with him in the moment, but at the same time, he feels like he’s in the perfect state to create a well functioning plan.
But Hunk does all the work, driving them to Keith’s hotel, which Lance had thankfully remembered the name of. Hopes were high, and life seemed to be turned in the right direction. But the world doesn’t stop turning for the fate of Lance’s love life, and traffic struck as soon as they began their drive to Triumph Hotel.
“Hunk, can we move my flight? Or just, cancel it all together?” Lance taps away on his phone in the back seat, trying to keep his cool in the midst of their newfound madness. He wishes he hadn’t talked so much, asked Keith when he was leaving. Then he would have some kind of scale to figure out when he was leaving, at least. He wouldn’t be as paranoid that he lost his only chance to confess his feelings for him.
Then again, he already lost that chance.
“You’re gonna have to call Allura—”
Hunk means best. He always does when it comes to these things. But Lance’s helicopter boss is the last thing he’s worried about right now. If this works out the way he wants it to, she’ll have to deal with a lot more than Lance missing his flight.
“I can’t think about Allura right now, Hunk. Pass me your phone so I can cancel the flight!”
“Lance what if this traffic lets up? Then what? You’re stuck in Vegas for another night.”
“So what?! I just—I need to see Keith,” the young actor stresses, “I don’t care about the flight.”
Hunk glares at him from the rearview mirror.
“Oh come on!” Lance groans, “I thought you were on my side!”
That seems to do it for him, Hunk’s phone slipping into his hands in seconds.
“Thank you,” he grins, swiping it open and working on canceling the flight. He hates to say that his career is going to have to wait, considering how much he values it, but that’s the beautiful thing about his fame. His career will wait for him.
They’re stuck waiting for traffic to loosen between the various vehicles on the roadway, and Lance tries not to let it worry him much. He tries to think of better times; memories of his week, along with the slim possibility that he could have that and more.
“That guy won’t stop looking at me.”
Lance had seen the burly meat sack that sat across the bar from them thirty agonizing minutes ago. He was feral, his hands itching to clutch Keith’s bare hip and press their chests together with the utmost possession. Wanted to growl, bear his teeth and ask the knucklehead to double check who Keith belongs to.
But Keith doesn’t belong to Lance. Keith—who glistens with three-hour-dancing sweat, hair swept into a perfect bun with loose bangs hanging over his eyes, sexy and filled to the brim with daring and danger when he’s loose like this—doesn’t belong to Lance.
If he did, they would have left the club thirty minutes ago.
“I noticed.” Lance sips his water, tongue tracing his top lip.
“He must recognize you,” Keith murmurs under the loud thumping of the club music, and Lance can’t help but smile at his naive outlook.
“If he recognized me, he would have come over by now.” Lance smirks gently, “He’s looking at you.”
“He’s not—” Keith’s gaze flickers from their subject to the brunette, eyes shifting to something that’s darker, more threatening, but still as beautiful as ever, “—is he looking at me?”
“ Yes. ”
“I don’t want him to look at me,” He whines, and Lance can’t help but agree, fingertips still twitching with animalistic jealousy. ‘Neither do I’, he almost utters.
“You should tell him that.” He jokes instead, earning a glare from Keith.
“Funny.”
But instead of moving onward, Keith’s eyes hover on the man, staring right back.
“What are you…” Lance doesn’t want to ask, really. The only reason why he does is that of the way his urge to know what Keith knows.
“Actually, hold on, yeah?”
With that, Lance loses whatever grip he had on Keith for the night. With every step the lanky man takes, the strings attached to his heart stretch until they ultimately snap. Panic makes a home in Lance’s weak heart as his companion walks the stretch of the bar, crossing over to where the man sits. He can’t see much from where he sits, having lost sight of Keith’s electric stare a while ago. All he can make out are their bodies, Keith’s inching closer with every word that leaves his mouth. Lance ignores the angry twinge, the reminder that they’re not exclusive blaring in his ear louder than his morning alarm.
He can tell he’s smiling, but can’t see the crinkle off his eyes. It’s only when he sees the tip of his finger trail up beefy muscle that Lance can’t bear to look any longer. He’s forced to sit and immerse himself in his own agony until Keith appears in front of his bowed head, holding two pi ñ a coladas.
“What… did you…” Keith hands him the drink, unshaken and casual when he leans against the bar. Lance feels the fabric of his t-shirt brush against the hairs of his bare leg.
“Hm? Oh, well…” He swirls the straw stuck in his mix, “Andy really wanted to buy two drinks for me and my friend from college…”
Lance’s eyebrows raise, hands motioning for his glass. Keith hands it to him with a devious glimmer in his eyes that would have made his knees buckle if he was standing.
“Fast talker, are you?”
“I try.” Keith shrugs, tilting his glass to Lance. Quite pleased with the outcome of the interaction, Lance caves, clinking glass against glass.
“I’ve never seen you like that before,” Lance muses, taking a sip of the pina colada. The fruity drink tastes sweeter, coming from another man’s pocket.
“Like what?” Keith passes a hand through his loose black hair.
“You know… flirty. ”
“I flirt, sometimes.”
“Well, if you say so.” The tickling jealousy simmers when Keith throws him a wink before pursing his lips and sipping his drink. They make it back to the dance floor before the night comes to an end, but Lance can’t stop himself from wondering if the way Keith presses his body to his, is his own weird way of flirting with him.
Lance trips on one of the mats resting on the floor of the car in his rush to get to the front desk of the hotel. Hunk shouts when his face skids against the pavement and the cut stings like hell , but all he can think is what if I’m too late?
He was, for the record. Keith left for the airport over an hour ago, two strapping friend of his following close behind. Lance can’t even begin to describe the descent of his heart. He’s lucky he has Hunk to keep asking questions. Lance shuts down more with each failure.
“Did you set up their transportation to the airport?” Hunk questions the attendant at the desk, “maybe we can catch them, right Lance?”
Right.
“No no, yeah, that’s true,” he murmurs, trying to snap himself out of his drag. Keith would probably be smacking him by now, telling him he’s being a little baby and that he needs to get up and catch him .
“Is there any possible way you know which airport he was going to?” He asks, “It’s—It’s really important. I forgot to give him something.”
Everything, he thinks.
“The drive was short,” the man behind the counter says, “it’s probably the nearest airport.”
“Thank you,” he and Hunk reply simultaneously, gathering themselves and dashing out to the car. As he slides into the front seat, Hunk’s fingers reach over to stroke the rough scratch marks on his cheek.
“Dude, the studio is gonna kill you.”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” Lance murmurs, wincing when Hunk’s finger brushes along it, “I can’t think about it. Keith, Hunk. We have to get to him.”
“We will,” He nods, revving the engine, “can I ask a question though?”
“Shoot.”
“Why the guitar?”
Lance is taken back to their night surrounding his father’s guitar in one fell swoop. There was a sad look in his eyes, sure, but there was no pity. Lance thinks that’s what he loved most about playing for Keith. He heard exactly where he got his guitar and didn’t fall into a chorus of sympathy. Keith took it, internalized it, and moved on. Focused on the music. Which, frankly, is exactly what he wanted.
“I’m gonna play,” he murmurs, glancing at the instrument beside him, “why else?”
“Can I give you some advice then, Mr. Crowd Pleaser?”
Lance deadpans but waves his hand anyway. His father always told him that he was pretty shit at taking constructive criticism. He’d never move forward if he was never criticized.
“Hit me with it.”
“Play from your heart, because your heart is all he wants to hear.”
And yeah, that’s something his dad would say too.
Lance knows he’s fortunate to have experienced a lot in his short time on Earth. He’s traveled, he’s jumped off roofs into swimming pools, been to more concerts than he can count, he’s… done it all. And dancing? He’s done it since he was little; shaking what little body weight he had in his mother’s living room to the songs that would play on the radio.
Of all his new experiences, dancing never lost its importance, or it’s flare. When Lance was sixteen, he came out and told his mother he was gay.
The only thing his mother told him to do, was to make sure he married a dancer. Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. They had to dance.
Lance figures that’s why his chest tightened when he took his hand in Keith’s and it was practically a perfect fit. And that probably explained why his shortness of breath when he held his waist, crowded his space.
Yeah, Lance thinks as flashes of trees and buildings fill his eyes, that makes sense. He isn’t thinking about marriage, no. His life is too busy to consider settling down. But Keith has him on the cusp. Lance can admit that much.
No matter what Keith says, he’s a natural dancer. The kind that needed a little push before taking off. Like his mother.
The drive to the airport is forty minutes long, with Hunk’s skillful driving and Lance’s expert directing. Lance isn’t sure he’s prepared; there are so many steps he’s probably skipped. He probably should have gotten flowers, or come with more than a song. But Keith loved his music last time. Hopefully, he’d love it this time.
“Lance,” Hunk powers down the car, “check the board, c’mon; Go check the board!”
He scrambles out of the car upon Hunk’s command, the blood trickling down the side of his face a harsh reminder of the consequences he’s bound to face after this.
Stop, he scolds himself, Keith. Focus, Lance.
He shuts the door with an extra force from his fingertips, feet taking him to the flight board with haste.
“Come on, come on…” he murmurs, reading down the seemingly endless list of flights. Lance’s frustration grows wildly until he sees exactly what he’s looking for.
SEATTLE, WASHINGTON - DEPARTURE: 11:50 AM
It’s the only ‘Seattle, Washington’ on the board for the day. He glances down at his phone quickly. They still have time.
“He’s here!” Lance exclaims, grabbing Hunk’s ironed collar and bringing them together, “Oh my god! He’s here!”
For the first time since they began their search, Lance feels genuine hope coursing through his veins like the rush of his excitement whenever his eyes caught a glimpse of Keith. In fact, the sensation is eerily similar, the same quiver of his heart. Something he’s certainly felt frequently during his time in Vegas. But it makes the possibility of seeing Keith all the more realistic. They begin to make their way through, shuffling through endless luggage and people before they’re stopped by an agent seated at one of the front desks.
“I’m sorry,” she says, eyes turning from her customer to the two frazzled men in front of her, “you cannot proceed past here without buying a plane ticket.”
“Oh no,” Lance shakes his head, “I’m not buying a ticket. In fact, I canceled my flight today. I need to see someone in there. They forgot something.”
“Sir, we can’t let you in without purchasing a ticket.” She repeats, tucking a uniform curl behind her ear. Blood boils within Lance, his next words filled with rage and determination.
“Do you know who I am?”
The attendant stares at him, confusion plaguing her until she connects the dots. Lance smirks. That’s what he thought.
“You’re Lance McClain…”
“Yeah, and I need to get in that terminal.”
“You’ll have to go through security—” she starts, and Lance knows she’s only doing her job, but he doesn’t have time for that.
“It’s only me,” he lifts his hand up, “and this guitar. I swear .”
The attendant is reluctant but eventually persuaded by Hunk to let Lance sprint through all the security barriers to reach Keith before his flight takes off. He’s given a small, temporary security badge. It’s meant to notify the other workers that he’s man on a mission, and he isn’t to be disturbed.
He and Keith had talked about whether he abused his title in the media, as well as Hollywood. If Lance had him now, he’d probably be teasing him endlessly about how he caved. Little did he know, he’d done it for him.
Lance passes through the last security barrier, bursting through double doors and drawing little attention to himself once they shut. His cheek still burns. His eyes scan the room, searching for dark bangs and pale cheeks.
Then, it all crashed on top of him; like a hand clutched his heart and pulled it out of his chest. That’s what it felt like when his eyes fell upon Keith. One of his loose tank tops sags on his drooping shoulders, two tall men sandwiching him in. Their faces spell concern, and Lance can’t even see Keith’s face.
He hurt him.
Lance glances down at his guitar resting in the firm grip of his fingertips. Wonders if it’s even worth playing now. But he’d come all this way, jumped through so many hoops. He might as well…try…
Even if Keith’s the one who sends him away for good.
Play from your heart, because your heart is all he wants to hear.
Lance sucks in a breath, strumming the beginning of Moonage Daydream.
“Keep your 'lectric eye on me, babe… ”
Keith’s head whips around faster than he had anticipated, unruly mop of curls flashing about his pale cheeks at the sound of the familiar song. Lance should be ecstatic, but his panic only increases as lyrics continue to fumble over themselves.
Two older men stand behind the boy, bewildered looks on their faces as they turn from his guitar to Keith. Lance can see one of the men say something, but he’s already dropping his bag on the ground, making headway for the brunette.
“Put your ray gun to my head, ” He gets louder, despite the turning eyes and mutterings of his name. Keith is looking at him, coming to him. That’s all that matters right now.
“Press your space face close to mine, love, ” Lance’s voice hits a high note on that last word, one that he probably butchered from the laughter that bursts from his lips. Tears that he’d been holding in for the longest time—since scolding himself for letting Keith walk out the door—build and dribble down his cheeks.
“Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh…” His fingers scrape against the wood, suddenly light as Keith’s white Converse come into view. There’s a sadness in his eyes; one that Lance brought upon him, without a doubt. He regrets it. Yes. He regrets it. And there’s too much going on in his head right now to consider the weight of that and admire what he thinks are hints of purple in Keith’s eyes, but he knows that much. He has regret for leaving Keith. And he’ll regret it even after this transpires.
“Why are you here?”
Lance expected it. He only laughs in the face of his skepticism.
“You think I’m gonna let you leave? I still have like, ten thousand songs I need to play for you—”
Keith crashes into him, and Lance takes the blow with every ounce of strength he has. His fingers clutch the t-shirt on his back. Lance’s arms wrap where his spine curves, gentle with every touch he places on the young boy. He feels he’s broken him enough, doesn’t want to squeeze too tight before he does it all over again.
“I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door,” he says, barely below a whisper. Keith’s eyes glisten. Lance’s fingertips graze the flesh of his cheek, disgustingly enamored with the shudder he feels rack through Keith’s body.
“You gave me so much. I can’t get you out of my head, and I just want more. I need more. I…”
Keith laughs, and Lance realizes that the glistening was the beginning of tears that now streamed down his face.
“God I’m sorry,” he mutters, pressing their foreheads together, “you shouldn’t be crying.”
“I’m just happy,” Keith speaks for the first time since Lance burst into the airport, “I thought I was never going to see you again.”
“You’re fucking crazy, Kogane,” he chuckles softly, leaning in to brush their lips together. It’s more than satisfying when Keith kisses back, more than a regret undone. It would never truly be undone anyway; he could have been here much sooner.
Kissing Keith is real. The fireworks sparking between their mouths is real. This isn’t an act, or a job, or theatrics to please the crowd.
When they part, Keith keeps them close. His hands curl into his hair, his eyes pierce with joy and affection. Lance can’t breathe. He’s so happy, he can’t even explain it. It’s better than any award he’s ever won. To hold Keith and every memory they made.
“I want to take you out,” Lance says, excitement pumping into his speech, “I wanna to fly you out to Ibiza and show you how to really dance I wanna take you on set with me, and I wanna hear you criticize everything about my world because there are so many things wrong—”
“Hey, hey, hey.” Keith stops his reel, a lopsided smile on his face as he continues to rake through his curls. Goosebumps raise with every line he draws in his scalp.
“Easy, tiger.” He continues, “Let’s…start with taking me out. Dinner? And a movie?”
“Of course,” Lance agrees, nodding with vigor.
“And not one of yours.”
“Unbelievable.” The overjoyed brunette pecks his lips again, savoring the taste that lingers.
A small squeak from the side draws him out of the moment. He’d been so wrapped in, he forgot about the people that gathered to watch the spectacle. Lance, regrettably, also forgot he was wearing his pajama shorts in the middle of the airport with a guitar hanging off his shoulder.
“Is this my life now?” Keith asks, his voice still holding that light elation as he peeks at the cameras snapping away around them, “people looking into my business and stuff?”
He expected Keith to be the kind of person that would be upset with all the attention, but just as he is, Keith seems to be locked on Lance. Undivided attention. The only audience he needs.
“I can make all that disappear.” Lance assures him, physically turning him away from the mob, “With the snap of my finger.”
“Don’t snap it yet,” Keith hums, fingers drumming against his cheek, “just kiss me again.”
Lance’s teeth flash briefly as he leans close.
“I can do that.”