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Lance learnt flight on a fifty-year-old levbike that coughed like an old man with a lung missing. It limped along in winter, but in summer, when the air got thick and hot and soupy, it ran like it was new. Well, if he closed his eyes and covered his ears, he could believe it was new. Otherwise the shriek of its engine and the dents and dings and scratches all over it would give it away.
The bike had been his abuela’s, and then it was David’s, and then it was his. Well, his and Rosa’s and Licia’s, since he could never even glance at it without them climbing all over him with big pleading eyes. He’d go in slow circles for them, Rosa squashed in front of him and Licia hanging on behind, and they’d do that until their abuela would come out into the yard to show them how it’s done.
Keith might sniff at him, and so might everyone else, but Lance was the best pilot in his town. His town might have consisted of three cows and like ten houses, but, still. Okay, that’s a lie. It was a decent sized town, and there weren’t any cows. But there were a lot of chickens, and almost all of them were his abuela’s.
Anyway. Lance loved that levbike, and he was good at riding it, and he liked it. He liked the feel of it and the fun of it, and he liked the way it made Rosa and Licia laugh, and he liked the way David would come home from college and fix whatever Lance had managed to do to it in the time he’d been away.
Abuela and David and Rosa and Licia. They’re far from Lance now. Or, well, he’s far from them. So far. Awfully, horribly, terribly far, so far it makes his belly flip over and tie itself up in knots. He misses them. He misses their voices. He misses his abuela’s weird thing for fancy scented candles that she never lets them light. He misses Rosa and Licia and the way they always piled on him the second he actually tried to be productive. He misses David and the one-sided catch they’d play, because Lance is the biggest butter fingers in the known galazy and probably beyond. He misses chilaquiles. Hell, scratch that. He misses food.
Still. If he was at home with his bike and his people and good food, he would miss everything he has out here. Well, he wouldn’t know about it, so he wouldn’t miss it, but. He’d still miss it, somehow. He’d miss Blue, both the physical bulk of her and the warm touch of her inside his head. He’d miss Keith and Shiro and Hunk and Allura and Coran and Pidge. He’d miss them like – like when you miss something a lot. That’s how he’d miss them.
* * *
Keith is all teeth. His nails are bitten-short but he still manages to scratch. Lance is – okay with this. He might actually like it quite a lot. Maybe.
“Shut up,” says Keith, and sucks Lance’s lip so hard it feels like he’s trying to pull it off.
“I wasn’t talking!” Lance says, or tries to, because talking without one lip kind of works but sounds a bit weird.
“You’re talking in your head,” says Keith, pulling away to scowl. Lance isn’t sure he ever actually stops scowling. “So. Shut up.”
“I just – you don’t even like me,” says Lance, and whoa, when did his hands get on Keith’s hips. They’re kind of sharp. He kind of likes it.
“You’re a dumbass,” says Keith. He’s gone a little pink all across his nose. Lance can’t seem to stop staring at it. “But I like you.”
“Oh,” says Lance.
“Yeah,” says Keith. He leans in, and then aborts it sharply. “I mean – can—?”
“Yeah! I mean, yeah, of course,” says Lance, and smushes their mouths back together. Because it is a smush, wet and a bit too hard and everything. Lance kind of curls up and dies inside a bit, but Keith doesn’t say anything, so it can’t have been as bad as he thought, right? Except it totally was just as bad as he thought, and Keith is just being nice.
Well. This is a bit beyond nice.
Keith pushes Lance back against the wall, and now his hands are on Lance’s hips, and it makes Lance’s belly swoop like they’re pulling out of a big dive. He flicks his tongue over Lance’s lip, and it’s devastating, sexy in all the ways that everything else hasn’t been, and of course Keith gets it unfairly quickly. Jackass.
Lance’s mouth opens and then Keith leans in closer, the whole warm weight of him pressing Lance flat. His tongue slides into Lance’s mouth and Lance makes this incredibly mortifying shrill noise. He hears Keith huff. Feeling his smile is – it’s something. It’s something Lance could stand to feel a whole bunch more times.
Lance didn’t know mouths could feel like this, hot and tingling and raw. He didn’t know that his heart could be in his throat like this, or that Keith could press his nails into Lance’s skin through his shirt and it would light Lance’s whole body on fire.
They part, and they’re both breathing hard. Keith’s flush has deepened. Lance can’t look away from it again.
“Hey,” says Lance.
“Hey,” says Keith, all flushed and pink-mouthed and hot and stuff. “You want – you know?”
“Sure,” says Lance, still not looking away from Keith’s nose. “Yeah, sure. Yeah.”
Then Keith tries to stuff his hand down the front of Lance’s pants, and Lance jerks away so violently that Keith ends up on his ass.
“What the fuck?” says Keith. He’s gone even redder, and Lance still can’t look away from his stupid red face.
“Your hand! In my pants!” Lance replies, which is probably one of the dumbest things to ever come out of his mouth. And a lot of dumb shit comes out of his mouth. “What was that!”
“That was me trying to—” and here Keith stops talking and does some miming that makes Lance’s eyes feel like they’re bulging a bit. “Come on! What else could I be doing?”
“Ripping it off,” says Lance.
“Ripping. It off.”
“Yeah,” says Lance. “Uh.”
Keith gives him a long look with says, very clearly, you weirdo. Then he gets to his feet. He kind of hovers at arm’s length. “You still want—?”
“I’ve never,” says Lance, and then stops, but Keith gets it. His eyebrows shoot up. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Your eyebrows were talking,” says Lance.
“My eyebrows were doing some gentle aerobics,” Keith concedes, which is maybe the longest sentence Lance has ever heard from him and his stupid red face. “What? I know words.”
“Yeah, well. Yeah,” says Lance. “Cool.”
“Cool?”
“I don’t know! Do you want to?”
“No, I never try to jerk off a guy who I find attractive,” says Keith. He should get a gold medal for eye rolling. Lance would vote for him. You know, if gold medals were the kind of thing you could vote for. “Geez. What kind of masochist d’you think I am?”
“The weird mullet kind,” says Lance.
“D’you even know what a masochist is?”
“You,” says Lance, immediately.
Keith huffs again, though this one’s more of an actual laugh. Now Lance can’t look away from his mouth. He’s smiling. He has actual teeth in there and everything. “Shut up, Lance.”
Then they’re kissing again, hot and fierce and biting. They get a little too into it and their teeth click and then Lance gasps and Keith slides his tongue into Lance’s mouth. He pulls it out and then pushes it in again, and it’s so dirty, so dirty and filthy. Lance’s stomach has gone all tight with it.
Keith presses up against him. Their legs bump, and then Keith slots his knee between Lance’s legs and presses up, and Lance is a little taller, so he actually has to make the decision to slide down the wall a bit so Keith’s knee can reach his dick. And then he’s down, and Keith’s knee is right there, grinding, and Lance is so hard. He can’t seem to control his hands. They keep jumping from Keith’s hair to his shoulders to his hips, over and over until Keith grunts and then pins them to the wall, and that. Wow. That is a very cool thing.
“Yeah?” says Keith, inane, and Lance bobs his head yes because talking is not even close to being a thing he can do right now. Keith jams his knee in tighter, and then he lets go of one of Lance’s wrists and slides his hand over to Lance’s belly. They stop kissing for a second, and Keith catches Lance’s eyes. Lance nods. They both look down between them as Keith pulls Lance’s sweatpants out enough to slide his hand inside, and then he fumbles with the waistband of Lance’s boxers, and then he’s in. His hand is warm against Lance’s dick, and then it’s wrapped around Lance’s dick. He thumbs the head, jams one of his stubby nails in the slit. Lance’s head thuds back against the wall.
Keith leans up, pulls his hand along Lance’s dick in a long filthy slide. He licks Lance’s neck, which isn’t sexy, and then bites it, which really really is.
He jerks him like that, frantic little pulls that come faster and faster, until Lance is riding that hard line between good and chafing, but it’s somehow still good. Keith is panting too. Somewhere along the line he’s pulled down his own sweatpants a bit and he’s got a hand fisted around his own dick. Lance can see it, the pink head, shiny with jizz. Or pre-jizz.
Lance lifts his hand from the wall and reaches for Keith’s dick, and Keith lets him. It’s warm, when he touches it, soft and hard at the same time. He pushes his thumb beneath the head, the way he does it to himself sometimes, and Keith makes a rewardingly uncontrolled noise, and it’s such a good noise that Lance just has to kiss him again.
Keith’s hand is so fast on Lance’s dick now, and Lance’s back tightens and twists away from the wall. “Oh,” he gasps, breaking the kiss and bending his head into Keith’s neck. “Oh, oh, fuck. Oh, fuck!”
“Yeah,” says Keith. He stops his hand and Lance garbles out a groan, shoving his hips against Keith’s, but Keith doesn’t move his hand. “Yeah, that’s it. You feel that?” he asks, and he moves his hand again, torturously slow, until every inch of Lance’s body is quivering with it. “That’s me. I’m doing that to you.”
There’s just – that’s just so explicit, in a way that their dicks and the kisses and the hot flush on Keith’s face somehow hasn’t been. It grabs at something right at the bottom of Lance’s belly and pulls, and his orgasm comes with it, dragged out of him, the burn of it filthy good. Keith keeps moving his hand, and Lance twists sharply, too much too much too much, but it’s still good. It’s still good, it’s just – a lot, and then finally Keith stops, but he doesn’t take his hand away. Lance hisses and rocks against it as hard as he can bear.
Keith rocks back. He’s still hard in Lance’s fist, and Lance’s knees are wobbly anyway, so. Why not?
He drops to the floor hard enough that his knees rap smartly against the tiles, and Keith makes an aborted motion to help him back up but Lance smacks his hands away and grabs him by the hips. He pulls him in, and then Keith’s dick is right there, shiny at the head, the whole of it flushed and radiating heat.
He licks, and it’s gross, but Keith makes a sound like he’s been electrified, so Lance does it again. He glances up, and Keith’s head has dropped forwards. He looks kind of stoned, and Lance is getting used to the gross, so he opens his mouth and sucks in the head of Keith’s dick. It’s all salt and slick on his tongue, furnace-hot. He licks along the groove and Keith’s hips leap forward, hard, and suddenly Lance has a lot more dick in his mouth than he was prepared for. He doesn’t gag, and he’ll be proud of that later, but it’s still too much. He pulls back a little. His jaw is already beginning to ache, and his lips are sloppy with spit, but Keith. Keith is loving it.
Lance covers his teeth with his lips because he’s not an asshole, and then he sucks. Gentle, and then harder, and then he bobs his head forwards slowly and pulls it back, and Keith’s hips try to chase him. And it’s not too bad, and Lance. Lance likes it. Lance likes it a whole lot.
He drops a hand to his own dick and squeezes it, and it’s pain-pleasure but it’s ridiculously good. Lance moans and sucks harder, and suddenly he’s got most of Keith’s dick in his mouth. He slides his other hand from Keith’s hip to the base of his dick, fits his hand around what he can’t reach with his mouth, and jacks him like that, uncoordinated as fuck but still apparently good enough that Keith’s hips jack knife into him only a couple minutes in. Keith’s dick jerks, and then there’s a whole lot of stuff in Lance’s mouth, and he pulls off, spluttering. Keith’s dick is still wet at the tip, a long drip of it striping Lance’s forearm as he pulls his hand all the way from the base of Keith’s dick to the head. Lance’s mouth is funky as hell, but. So worth it, both for the heady feeling in his own gut and the way Keith’s eyes go all funny when he sees his own come on the corner of Lance’s mouth.
He thumbs it away, and then he drags Lance to his feet and kisses him, as full of teeth as before but slower, deeper, hotter.
“I can’t believe you did that,” says Keith, pulling back. “Fuck, Lance.”
“Shut up,” says Lance.
“Make me,” says Keith, so Lance kisses him again.