Chapter Text
Lance is bored. Well, maybe not fully bored, but like, a little tired, and perhaps uninterested with what’s going on around him. He considers getting his phone out but doesn’t want to join the facebook party. Or maybe the instagram party. Is anyone even still on facebook?
He’s getting off track.
Point is, Lance is currently at a club and he’s supposed to be having fun. Sadly, for the life of him he can’t really get into it. Hunk has come down from San Jose for the weekend, but it seems like his best friend has ditched him for some Irish influencer named Shea, or Shay, he can’t remember.
Now, that leaves Lance alone at their VIP booth with nothing to do except stare at staff running around in their pressed white shirts, somehow lacking sweat stains under their armpits. Lance notices one of the bartenders, a cute blonde-haired girl he’s pretty sure Allura has a crush on that she refuses to act on.
Why, you ask? Lancey Lance will gladly feed his loyal followers with some hot goss. Story time!
Allura Altea is a capitalism-loving business heiress of a multimillion dollar establishment on the Sunset Strip. Her father, now retired, founded the Altea Club back in the ‘70s. It went through a couple refurbishments and rebrandings, sure, but it’s been bringing profit to the entire family ever since.
When Allura turned twenty-one her father named her general manager and left the business in her hands. Mr Altea then promptly fucked off to Santa Barbara, bought a villa there and spends his days counting his money.
Honestly? Lance is kind of jealous.
Anyway! Allura’s forbidden affair. Right. She’s the girl’s boss, so things get tricky with an obviously uneven power dynamic. Allura’s scared to make a move and the bartender seems oblivious to the entire thing. And Allura being Allura would never do anything that caused ethical issues in the workplace. So, the pining continues.
Bartender girl clearly lucked out working on the VIP bar instead of the main one. Whether that’s a benefit of being the manager’s object of affection or a simple coincidence, Lance has no clue. Maybe he should tease it out of Allura. As scary as the woman is, she gets ridiculously flustered whenever confronted about her crushes.
He watches as the girl makes a cocktail for some C-list celebrity ditched by his date. Well, at least Lance hasn’t sunk down to the level of drinking alone at the bar yet - ‘yet’ being the key word.
A pink feature lighting runs over a dark-clad figure sneaking behind the bar, clearly trying to stay out of anybody’s sight. Lance’s curiosity is piqued.
The figure looks androgynous from a distance. Lance can’t see much as they’re back into hiding in the shadows, but he’s not giving up on the only interesting task at hand. Squinting his eyes, he can make out the silhouette’s longish, dark hair sticking to their sweaty forehead with the rest of it tied back in a low ponytail. He’s pretty sure the black t-shirt they’re wearing has Altea’s logo printed on the back.
A staff member, then. Lance was kind of hoping it was a drunk customer stealing booze.
The employee turns around and Lance watches them pick up dirty glass from behind the bar and scurry away to the back. The figure is wearing a dark face mask.
In the year 2024 most people have completely given up on wearing masks indoors, he knows for a fact Allura isn’t enforcing it on her staff. Lance certainly hasn’t seen anybody in the VIP room wearing one.
He doesn’t see the employee for the next ten minutes and gets bored of waiting around. Time to stoop down to the level of the C-lister.
“Can you fix me a whiskey sour?” He asks the bartender. The embroidery - yes, embroidery, Allura spares nothing on making her club look as fancy as possible - on her white button down reads Romelle. A unique name, Lance finds he quite likes it.
“Coming right up, Mr McClain,” Romelle smiles at him, picking up a glass and starting on his drink.
He doesn’t even like whiskey sour much, preferring sweeter and rum-based cocktails, like a mai tai or a Cuba libre, or even a piña colada. But, Lance is a guy on a mission now. The ditched twinkish C-lister’s date was drinking a whiskey sour, so Lance will gladly act as a rebound and eagerly welcome the guy into his arms, and hopefully his bed later on.
A club remix of Just Dance starts playing and Lance feels the gay gods sending him their blessings.
Romelle puts the drink before him and adds it to his open tab. Lance takes a sip and tries not to think about the egg white in it. Yuck.
Before he can start a conversation, he notices the mysterious staff member returning with a tray of clean glasses. Lance is now sitting close enough to get a good look. From only a few feet away Lance is pretty sure the employee is male and his eyes are immediately drawn to the exposed biceps. Forget the twink, this guy is hotter.
The name printed on his t-shirt is Kei, so Lance is going to take a guess and say the guy is from Japan, or Japanese-American, maybe, but he doesn’t want to make assumptions. He can’t see much of Kei’s face between the mask and long, wild bangs, but what he sees strikes through his heart like an arrow.
Lance has no idea whether it’s the pink lighting of the room or the alcohol he’s been drinking for a couple hours now, but he can swear Kei’s eyes are purple. You can’t blame him, he’s a romantic.
The barback notices him staring and his eyes go wide. Does he recognise Lance? Is he starstruck? Does he want an autograph? A selfie? Does he want a ticket to Lance’s next concert? Lance can get him one, or better yet he’ll make a private concert just for Kei and his pretty purple eyes.
He’s definitely drunk, because he realises he’s said all that out loud.
Romelle’s hand flies to cover her giggling mouth. The C-lister is staring at him stunned and Kei looks like a deer caught in headlights. He swiftly recovers, sets the tray down, snorts and exits into the back again.
“Wow,” the twink comments in a heavy Manhattan accent that Lance is almost certain is fake. Either a Gossip Girl fan or an actual Upper East Side wannabe. “Is that how you recruit groupies?”
Romelle lets out a very unbecoming wheeze and coughs to cover it up. Lance gives her the stink eye and downs his drink.
Oh god, he hopes no one will tweet about this.
“Maybe he’s into idiots,” the twink says. Frankly, Lance forgot about his existence, he should probably stop calling him twink, or C-lister, in his head, but he just can’t remember the name of the guy. All he knows about him is that he had a supporting role in some recent Netflix drama. Lance hasn’t even seen the show.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” he says. If the guy is bothered by not being recognised, he doesn’t show it.
“James Griffin,” he introduces himself.
“Lance McClain,” Lance shakes his hand.
“Yeah, I know,” James answers, raising an eyebrow. “Been hearing that new song of yours everywhere for the past month.”
Lance laughs awkwardly. So, yeah, he might be kind of a big deal. Fame used to mean a lot to him, but it doesn’t now, hasn’t for a while. After a few years you get frustrated with the attention, the constant surveillance, fans and paparazzi watching your every move, waiting for you to trip, so they can throw you a cancel party. His whole life is basically one excruciatingly long episode of Big Brother. Or Celebrity Big Brother. Either works.
He released his first album at the tender age of seventeen, having miraculously landed a deal with a record label. He was young and naïve, thirsting for stardom and being acknowledged by society. Those first songs were mostly pop love songs targeted at teenage girls, granting him a small but loyal fandom and a stamp of a teen heartthrob.
His second album, released two years later, was much more mature, with coming-of-age lyrics hinting at his bisexuality. That album skyrocketed his career to the top of Billboard charts. The most upbeat single won him a VMA for Song of the Year and a ticket to the Grammys. He got three nominations for that album and won Best New Artist.
Since then he released three more albums and had a short acting career, guest starring on SNL and landing a leading part in an Oscar-nominated musical. The critics couldn’t agree whether his performance was flawless or trauma-inducing, and so it ended. Lance didn’t really enjoy acting anyway. He’d much rather stick with music.
And so, here he is, multiple collaborations, awards and almost a hundred songs later - ninety-three precisely, including collabs and that one musical, but who’s counting?
Seeing how awkward and miserable he looks, Romelle takes pity on him once again. “My break is coming, I’m afraid Kei will have to cover me for the next ten minutes.”
Lance would kiss her, but Allura might kill him.
“You’re an angel,” he tells her, because she needs to know this vital piece of information. Romelle merely laughs and disappears through the back.
During Romelle’s absence the bar is left under the watchful eye of the second bartender who looks incredibly disgruntled with the whole thing.
A few moments later Kei reappears to stiffly take Romelle’s place, his slightly wet, crumpled black tee and sweaty hair sticking out like a sore thumb. He obviously does not belong behind the bar. He eyes his two customers hesitantly.
“Look,” he says, “I’m not a bartender, I can pour you guys shots or beer, or maybe make a gin and tonic, unless you care about garnish a lot, then I might fuck it up. So if you want any cocktails, you’ll have to wait for Romelle to be back or ask Ryan over there.” He points to the bartender who grunts in displeasure.
“Trust me, dude,” James tells him, “making drinks isn’t why she called you here.”
Kei seems confused. “Why then? Making the bar look busier for all of those five people?”
Lance looks around and, well, Kei is right. Even more celebrities and businessmen sneaked out of the VIP lounge within the past half an hour to either drunkenly hit the dance floor or make some regrettable life choices.
Lance wishes he was one of those people.
“It’s one a.m. on a Friday, everyone’s too wasted to care.” James snorts. “No, you’re here as eye candy for our singer boy.”
Lance squawks indignantly. “Excuse me, singer boy ?” Then, he quickly turns to Kei. “You’re not an eye candy! I mean, you are, but not just for me.” Oh god, he just made it so much worse. “I mean…”
“Go on,” Kei says dryly, crossing his arms. His eyes are staring Lance down in challenge and, wow, he has almost forgotten how out of this world those irises are.
He gapes. “Your eyes are like candy.” The ground can swallow him now. “Must be a trick of the light because I could swear they’re purple.”
Kei clearly doesn’t take that as a compliment because he doesn’t react in any positive way, instead averting his gaze and focusing on polishing glasses.
Deciding his pride left him a few drinks ago, Lance decided to go all out. “Do you have wi-fi here?”
Kei nods, not looking up.
“I thought so. I could feel the connection,” Lance grins and hears James groan as in pain.
“I can’t take this anymore,” the actor declares and gets up from the barstool, only slightly stumbling. “Good luck, superstar, hope you don’t get kicked out for harassment.”
Lance doesn't grace him with an answer as his eyes refuse to leave the barback.
“Are you a thief?” He keeps going. “Because you stole my heart.”
Kei actually snorts this time, but he still doesn’t look up. Lance wants to see those amazing eyes again.
“This must be a museum, because you’re a work of art.”
“ Oh my god .” Lance notices the shape of Kei’s smile poking through the material of his mask.
He perks up with a brilliant idea. “Can I serenade you? I wanna serenade you.”
Kei quickly looks at Ryan the Grumpy Bartender and cringes. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m a singer, you know,” Lance reveals to him, like it’s a secret. It can be their secret. Lance wants to share all his secrets with Kei. “I can sing. I wrote a few love songs.”
Kei’s eyes finally look at him, raising an eyebrow. Lance grins seeing a mischievous glint in those pupils. “The next one will be about you.”
Lance is pretty sure Kei blushes but that god-forsaken mask deprives him of the sight. Kei stares at him for a moment, then bursts out laughing.
“Is that a promise?” He challenges.
Lance smiles even brighter. “Honey, if I had a ring on me it’d already be on your finger.”
He mourns the moment Romelle comes back and Kei returns to his duties. Lance casts a longing glance at his back and sighs.
His next visit to Altea is a month later, having had no time for partying with his busy schedule. Lance is being pressured by his label to release a new album soon, but he’s not had inspiration to write much. Sure, there’s a bunch of brilliant songwriters that have been recommended to him, but Lance prefers to be mostly responsible for his own lyrics. He can more easily relate to songs he writes himself, which makes him sing them with more passion. All his fan-favourite hits have been written by Lance, and he’d like to keep it that way.
He usually spends his days in meetings and trying to write some decent melodies, but the past month he’s been doing photoshoots and recording promos for a new Paco Rabanne fragrance, he’s been chosen to be the face of. Hence, zero spare time.
But, he finally gets to see the outside world again and Lance intends to make the most of it. He’s also really hoping to run into a certain Asian barback.
Lance isn’t a patient person, so as soon as he steps foot in the nightclub, he makes a beeline to find Allura.
The night is still young and the manager is easily found near the cash desk.
“Allura!”
The woman’s piercing glare focuses on him but she beams as soon as she recognises him.
“Lance, how lovely to see you again,” she greets him with a kiss on the cheek, then immediately grabs his hand to stamp it with Altea’s logo. She winks at him and Lance grins, he can’t remember the last time he paid an entry fee to a nightclub.
“Did I tell you, you look stunning tonight?” She does, the pink pantsuit fits her flawlessly.
She raises an eyebrow. “You’re not so bad yourself. Now, what do you want?”
Lance grins. “You know Kei? One of your employees?”
She frowns, her gaze turning suspicious as her expression sobers. “Why? Has he done something to you?”
“Oh, Allura,” he whines, “he’s a thief! It’s the most heinous crime. He has stolen my heart completely. I need his number.”
It takes some convincing to make Allura not permanently ban him from the club. He hasn’t been harassing Kei! Definitely not, no way, Kei is yet to tell him to piss off, so Lance takes that as an encouragement.
Allura is kind enough to not only let him stay, but she also provides him with some invaluable information - Kei is actually on shift tonight.
He heads for his regular spot in the VIP lounge and instantly spots a familiar face.
“Romelle!” He smiles at the bartender.
“Hello, Mr McClain,” she greets him. “What are you having tonight?”
He grins. “Your coworker, hopefully.”
Romelle snorts and another bartender chokes, looking at him scandalously.
“Oh shoot, sorry!” He cringes at the second girl. “I swear I didn’t mean you.”
She blushes, but it seems more in anger than flustery. That’s something Lance adores about Altea. The employees here are rarely starstruck, especially in the VIP lounge.
He turns back to Romelle. “So,” he drags the word out and sees her smirk. “Any chance you can get Kei from the back?”
She smiles at him sympathetically. Oh no, Lance won’t like this. “As much as I would love to watch more of your ridiculous flirting attempts, sadly, Kei’s working the dishwasher in the main room today.”
Lance’s frowns. “Does that mean he’s not going to come to the bar?”
“It’s unlikely, but you might be able to see him during his break.”
“Any chance you could text him for me?” Lance’s tone turns pleading.
“Sorry, I don’t have his number.” Her features turn deep in thought. “Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone has, he’s not even in our work group chat.”
Lance feels himself pout. “Do you think I can ask any of the bartenders there to leave him a message from me?”
Romelle stares at him for a few seconds. “You’re really serious about him, aren’t you?”
He sighs. “Yeah.”
“Just after that one time?”
“He’s been on my mind for the past month. There’s just something about him.”
Romelle looks at him knowingly and Lance instantly gets the idea she’s way smarter than he gave her credit for. “It’s the mystery isn’t it? Keeps you interested in him.”
Lance can say it’s a lot of things, but mystery is certainly one of them. “Maybe.”
Some customer is getting impatient at being ignored and slams his hand on the bar, clearing his throat loudly. Lance recognises him as a TikToker who apparently got a small part in a blockbuster and now believes people should bow to him.
He can’t even remember the guy’s name.
Romelle excuses herself and rushes over, Lance quickly exits the lounge and heads to the main bar.
Despite it only being a little after ten p.m. the main room is already packed, and the queue to the bar is enormous. Seeing as Lance doesn’t actually plan on getting any drinks, he decides to look for an employee in the crowd instead.
He keeps his head low to avoid getting recognised. In the VIP lounge there’s usually just celebrities or rich business people, but the rest of the club is open to the general public.
He manoeuvres between sweaty bodies reeking of alcohol and perspiration in his search for any staff member. He thinks he hears some girls screech next to him and yell his name, but the loud music makes all other sounds distorted, so he’s not sure.
A flash goes off behind his back and this time Lance is certain someone had taken a photo of him. Dammit. He naïvely hopes it was just the club photographer snapping a picture of the mosh pit, but deep down, he knows it’s not true.
Lance needs to get away from the fans that recognised him, so he starts pushing this way through the crowd more aggressively. Thankfully, he finally spots some unlucky person assigned floor duty, picking up empty beer bottles off the tables.
“Excuse me!” He yells at the employee, but they can’t hear him.
He tries to get closer and accidentally elbows someone in the stomach. This someone turns out to be a buff guy’s girlfriend.
“Sorry,” he cringes and apologises, he needs to get out of here before the situation escalates. The bodybuilder grabs him by the arm and tugs him back.
“What the fuck did you just do? Apologise!” He screams over the music.
“I just did!” Lance yells back and tries to tug his arm out of the man’s grip. “I said sorry, alright? I’m sorry, it was an accident.”
The guy’s eyes widen and his girlfriend screeches. Shit, god damn, not again.
“Are you Lance McClain?” Buffy the Calorie Slayer asks.
Lance internally groans, putting his best, well-practised grin on display. “Yeah, you want a selfie?”
Buffy immediately releases his arm, looking horrified. “Shit! I’m so sorry, Lance McClain. Ah, sir.” He runs his palm over Lance’s sleeve several times, as if scared he crumpled the material. He glances at the girl and back at him. “Is that fine?”
“Sure, dude! You got a phone?” The girl has hers out already.
“Here you go, Lance!” She looks as if her eyeballs might fall out.
Lance quickly takes a selfie and runs away before more fans demand photos. The floor staff member is nowhere in sight. Ugh, this is getting him nowhere.
“Ew!” He hears someone exclaim near the booths and sees security drag a guy out. Out of curiosity, he walks over there to check out what the commotion is. Turns out, someone puked on the floor.
Ew, indeed. Lance feels sorry for whoever has to clean that up.
Another employee comes over with a mop bucket. He’s clad in all black, including a face mask and latex gloves. His hair is in a low ponytail again.
‘Hell yes’ is Lance’s first thought. ‘Hell no’ is the second one.
“Kei!” He gets his attention and comes closer. He’s immediately hit with the stench of sick and recoils.
Kei seems horrified to see him and Lance kind of gets it, his timing is terrible. Kei is looking anywhere but at Lance, then clearly remembers he’s got a job to do and starts mopping the floor.
“Do you, ah.” He cringes. “Do you need any help?”
Kei’s head snaps up to stare at him in horror. “Please, don’t!” He puts his arms up quickly as if he expects Lance to suddenly step into the puddle of barf.
Lance blushes and shrugs. Right. Not the best suggestion, clearly. Another few flashes go off and Lance notices security approaching him.
He thinks he hears someone yell something along the lines of ‘chop-chop, mop-mop!’ from the side, but Kei ignores it, so Lance will ignore it too. It makes his blood boil, but he’s got bigger fish to fry.
Like, for example, the fact Allura might assume he’s harassing Kei again and he’s going to get kicked out. Fortunately, the security guy seems to come to make sure Lance isn’t the one getting harassed. He stands behind him protectively and glares at anyone who dares approach them.
Well, at least they have some privacy. Just Lance, Kei and a puddle of puke separated from a mosh pit by a wall of muscles. Great first date.
Lance waits for Kei to finish, awkwardly hanging around. The barback looks as uncomfortable as Lance feels. Kei puts the mop into the bucket one last time and pulls out a tiny can of air freshener and sprays it around, covering the stench. It works surprisingly well.
Before Kei can leave Lance grabs him by the shoulder. “Wait!”
Kei looks at him suspiciously. The club lighting is blue tonight and his irises look more indigo in it.
“Can I get your number?”
“What?!” Kei yells, frowning. At first, Lance thinks he just got turned down hard, but then he sees the confusion in the employee’s eyes and realises he didn’t hear him.
Beyoncé’s TEXAS HOLD ‘EM is blasting through the speakers and most of the partygoers are singing along. It’s not easy to hold a conversation, so Lance repeats his question louder.
Kei’s eyes widen in shock as he glances at the bucket full of sick, then back at Lance, clearly thinking he’s insane. Lance once again curses his awful timing.
Or, wait. He listens to the lyrics for a second. Maybe not.
He looks Kei dead in the eye and sings along with Queen B:
I'll be damned if I can't slow dance with you.
Kei, once again, looks like a deer caught in the headlights. He frantically glances around, then at something behind Lance’s back, then finally back at him.
“I’m serious,” Lance insists. “I like you! Let me take you out.”
“You barely know me,” Kei answers. “We spoke once.” He points to his covered face. “You don’t even know what I look like.”
“All the more reason to get to know you!” Lance notices Kei glaring at something behind him again. Wasn’t the bouncer standing there? Oh god, he’s definitely gonna snitch to Allura, Lance is doomed.
Well, too late to back out now.
“Look, Kei,” Lance draws his attention back. “How do I say this without sounding completely corny?” He groans and swallows what little of his pride remains. He already serenaded the guy in front of a platoon of fangirls, might as well go all in. He flashes Kei what he hopes is a seductive smile. “Are your eyes an ocean? Because I’m drowning in them.”
Lance swears the bouncer behind him just laughed. Kei stops glaring and stares at him, eyebrows raised.
“You’re drunk again.”
“I’m not!” Lance argues. “I only had one drink this week and that was a mimosa on Tuesday!”
Kei seems sceptical. “You’re flirting with me when you’re sober?”
“Yes, obviously!” Then he realises what Kei must be thinking. “I wasn’t hitting on you just because I was drunk, I genuinely like you.”
Kei seems to consider it. Then, he sighs and takes off one of his latex gloves, dropping it into the bucket. “Give me your phone.”
Lance rushes to pull his cell phone out and puts it in Kei’s outstretched hand. He really wishes he could see Kei’s face right now. Or at all. The mystery is killing him.
On second thought, maybe it’s good he can’t see it. If the barback’s face is as beautiful as his eyes Lance might actually pass out.
Kei hands Lance his phone back and quickly runs away. The bouncer behind him is still sniggering.
Lance looks down to his unlocked screen and finds a new contact simply labelled as ‘K’.
It sounds as mysterious as everything else about him and Lance can’t wait to learn the answers to all of Kei’s secrets.
Lance texts Kei as soon as he gets back to his condo in West Hollywood. He left the club after getting the guy’s number as there wasn’t really anything else for him in there. Drinking alone isn’t fun, although last time it led to meeting Kei, so maybe it’s not so bad after all.
He’s getting off track again.
Lance sends a simple ‘Hi’ to Kei and decides to wait for an answer. It sends in a green bubble and Lance internally commends Kei for not succumbing to the societal pressure of having an iPhone. He is a victim of it himself, despite fighting it for years.
Kei probably has a few more hours until his shift ends, but he’s bound to check his phone soon. His break must be coming up at some point. Lance decides to wait.
When the clock strikes midnight and Kei still hasn’t responded, Lance gets impatient.
This is Lance btw 12:02
He curses autocorrect for capitalising the letters. It’s a very uncool aesthetic. Lance fixes it in his next message.
from altea 12:02
Three messages in a row is the limit, so Lance forces himself to put the addictive device away and instead decides to focus on something else, something productive maybe since he’s not going to sleep anyways.
For the first time in months Lance gets inspiration for songwriting. He’s going to write cheesy lyrics about purple eyes and no one will stop him.
What started as a corny line turns into a pretty decent bridge and Lance gets so engrossed in it he almost misses the ping of a text notification. He drops his notebook on the floor and almost trips trying to disentangle his legs from the weird pose he was sitting in for almost an hour.
He’s kind of disappointed to see the message is from Pidge.
12:41 bruh wtf did you barf on alluras fancy floorboards
There’s a link to a twitter post attached and Lance clicks it as fast as he can. His social media notifications are off, otherwise his phone would never stop buzzing. Whenever something important happens he trusts Pidge to let him know since they’re online 24/7.
The link takes him directly to the app and reveals a tweet from a fan, which apparently is already going viral despite only being posted a couple hours ago. The description reads ‘LANCE MCCLAIN IN ALTEA’ followed by a keysmash. Attached is a picture of him slightly slouching in front of a puddle of vomit, and Lance definitely knows how it looks. He quickly scrolls through the comments and all of them seem to come to the same conclusion as Pidge. Allura is definitely banning him now.
Would you even believe me if I told you that’s not my puke? 12:44
Damn autocorrect, one of these days Lance is turning it off.
12:44 maybe but im still gonna tell everybody it was you
figures 12:44
12:45 i might change my mind if you have a story for me
Lance sighs. At least they’re being straightforward.
I was talking to the employee cleaning it 12:45
12:45 why are you harassing staff
i wasn’t harassing him! We were just talking 12:45
12:45 sure.
Lance is about to answer but he gets another message, this time from his sister.
12:46 christmas came early
Under the message Rachel sends him a screenshot with the same tweet he was just looking at.
THAT’S NOT MY BARF 12:46
He puts his phone on silent and tosses it away to focus on songwriting. Where was he? Ah, right. Kei’s pretty irises, whatever colour they might actually be. They remind Lance of the night sky, dark and eerie, hiding a whole universe behind them. He wonders if they get hazy with clouds when the man’s intoxicated. They don’t shine like the sun, but they reflect light the way the moon does, he’s seen it, he got blinded by it himself. It probably rains when Kei cries.
Lance gets back to writing.
He wakes up to a soreness in his back, having fallen asleep on the floor while composing. It’s still mostly dark outside, so it couldn’t have been a long nap. He blinks a couple times and searches for his phone, finding it behind the couch, where he must’ve thrown it.
It’s nearing six a.m. and his notifications are still off. Lance unlocks his phone and goes straight to messages.
The latest one is from Pidge and Lance ignores that, knowing it’s most likely more photos from the club fans have posted and the gremlin is bullying him again.
Below that is a text from Hunk asking if he’s alright and reminding him to stay hydrated. Bless Hunk, at least one of his friends cares about him.
Next up is a message from Allura and Lance scrolls past that one in fear. He has some suspicions about its content and really, really doesn’t want to confirm them.
He continues scrolling, seeing a text from Veronica telling him that hangover and online humiliation isn’t an excuse for not showing up to family dinner, so he better be there and one from Marco which is just a sequence of the laughing-crying emojis. Hilarious.
His manager sent him a link to a TMZ article titled ‘Lance McClain VOMITS in LA Nightclub!’ with a promise to call him in the morning.
Lance almost exits the app after that one, but the next message stops him. The sender is K.
4:43 sorry just got home
Kei’s texting aesthetic is flawless. Lance might be in love.
He’s not expecting Kei to still be awake, he must be exhausted but he answers anyways.
no worries! get some sleep. are you free for lunch tomorrow? 5:49
Lance heads for his bedroom to plug his phone in. Then, he goes to the bathroom to brush his teeth and do his daily skincare routine. After that he gets in bed to get a few more hours of sleep before his manager calls to yell at him.
He notices a new message which, surprisingly enough, is from Kei.
5:51 tomorrow or today?
Lance cringes. Right, he gets how that might be a little unclear, especially for someone who works night shifts.
whenever works for you ;) 6:03
He wasn’t expecting Kei to still be awake. Working in a nightclub must’ve messed up his sleep schedule pretty badly. He decides to wait for the reply, which comes shortly after.
6:05 im free today if you want
awesome, i know a great spot it’s little known so we’d have some privacy. does 1 work? 6:05
6:08 sure text me the address ill meet you there
Lance quickly copies the address from his maps app and writes a good night message, putting his phone away. He doesn’t set an alarm, knowing his manager will wake him up with that call no later than nine, and goes to sleep.
Lance was absolutely right, having received a call from Nyma at exactly eight sharp. On a Saturday. That should be illegal.
Whenever Nyma calls him she’s always acting as the boss, even though it’s Lance who pays her. Whatever. He’s half-awake during the entire phone call but the gist of it is that the PR people at the label are furious for doing overtime, and, yeah that’s on him.
She makes him post an instastory of himself making breakfast, to show everyone he’s fine, definitely not hungover (he wasn’t even drunk for God’s sake) and living his best life instead of regretting questionable decisions from last night.
And for the record, Lance regrets nothing from yesterday. Getting photographed next to a puddle of puke might have made him the questionable star of the day, but he got Kei’s number from that, and today he’s got a hot date with the guy. So, definitely worth it.
Nyma took her sweet time talking to him and Lance has less than three hours to prepare. Shower first, then he needs to make himself look fabulous but in a ‘woke up like this’ style for that instastory. Should he blow dry his hair? No, wet hair always looks sexier for the fans.
One shower, skincare routine and carefully placed towel later Lance holds a cup filled with steaming coffee and snaps a picture of it. In the background there are two eggs on a pan, and a window with a beautiful view of Los Angeles. Lance makes sure his reflection is slightly visible in the window, especially with his naked chest and a white towel around his hips.
It’s a thirst trap, is what it is, but not many people will notice his reflection in the window, unless they look closely. Lance will pretend he didn’t see it either.
He finishes his coffee, eats his eggs and shares the picture, silently hoping Kei follows him on instagram.
Within the past month Lance has used his secret stalking accounts to try and find Kei across various social media platforms to no avail. Having as little as someone’s first name and workplace would be enough for Pidge, but Lance failed miserably. He didn’t want to ask Pidge a favour, because even if he was ready to repay it, they would still laugh at him for this newfound crush. He also couldn’t ask Hunk or Matt as both of them would undeniably rat him out.
So, here he is, one month later, going completely old-fashioned and simply chasing Kei in person for contact details. And maybe giving Nyma a stroke by accident.
Whatever, his date is definitely worth it, Lance thinks as he applies a ridiculous amount of deodorant. No sweat stains allowed on the first date.
Should he call a car to pick him up or should he drive? Taking his grey Toyota RAV4 would be more inconspicuous than getting dropped off in a black Chevy Suburban, but then he needs to find parking Downtown and walk to the cafe from there. Easier to just wear sunglasses and a baseball hat while jumping out right in front of the entrance.
Does Kei have a car? Should he give him a lift?
Do you want me to pick you up? 10:46
Technically, he said to meet him there, but Lance still thinks it’s nice of him to offer. Should he book a table? Lance thinks while drying his hair. The cafe they’re going to doesn’t really make reservations but isn’t that busy, even on Saturdays, so they should be fine.
Lance is in the middle of choosing his outfit when the message comes.
11:34 i have a ride but thanks
Well, he expected that but still, he’s a little disappointed.
In the end Lance decides to dress ‘casual but fancy’ and get a lift from his private car service. Lance is glad he left an hour early, otherwise he would’ve been late. Thank you, LA traffic.
Equipped with a baseball hat, sunglasses and a face mask, he orders a drink and sits down at a table far away from the windows and prying eyes. He hopes he won’t get stood up, sure, but he also hopes not to get recognised. The two combined together would be a disaster the PR people do not get paid enough to deal with, not after last night’s fiasco.
He has to physically stop himself from texting Kei to let him know he’s here and waiting.
Like clockwork, Kei walks into the cafe at one sharp, once again clad in black and covering his face. He looks amazing in a plain hoodie, cargo pants and red Dr Martens. His hair is loose this time and - is that a mullet?
Kei looks around and Lance waves at him.
“Hi,” he greets. “Perfect timing.”
His date pulls his hands out of his pockets and sits down. This time, instead of latex cleaning gloves, he has leather fingerless ones on. He eyes Lance’s coffee and cringes. “Have you been waiting long?”
“No, not at all. I just got here.” He passes Kei the menu. “Do you know what you’d like? I’m paying, feel free to get whatever you want.”
Kei looks at him suspiciously but doesn’t comment. “What are you getting?” He asks instead.
Lance shrugs. Now that he thinks about it, he should’ve actually read the options instead of internally panicking. What was that thing he had last time he was here? Ah, right. “Probably the acai bowl.” After a moment, he adds to show his date the choice wasn’t random, and maybe, just maybe, because he can’t shut up when he’s nervous: “Sweet, but not unhealthy.”
Kei chuckles, and, oh wow, what a beautiful melody - Lance is a musician, he knows what he’s talking about.
“You have some fancy dietician that you’re scared of?”
Lance blinks in surprise, he wasn’t expecting to get teased, but quickly regains his composure, grinning. “I used to, but it was a pain in the ass. She had me living off of mixed greens, like a rabbit. That’s just not for me, like, I want to have some In-N-Out every once in a while, you know?”
Kei nods in agreement. “Yeah, same. I try to eat healthy but that’s not easy without cooking or meal prep.”
Lance stares at him awkwardly. Kei immediately notices his silence and looks up at him from the menu. He chuckles. “You get meal prep, don’t you?”
Lance feels the heat spread across his cheeks. “In my defence, I don’t have time to cook!”
Keith sniggers again, shrugging. “Yeah, to be fair I mostly live off of instant noodles. Can’t cook for shit.”
A waitress stops by their table and asks if they’re ready to order. Lance and Kei exchange questioning glances.
“Sure,” Lance says, taking the lead. His date doesn’t seem like someone who likes talking first. “I’ll have the acai bowl, please.”
Kei asks for the same, and a large americano. Lance does his best not to cringe in disgust.
So, this guy is one of the demons who drink their coffee black. That’s probably what working at a nightclub does to a person. He’s about to ask about it, but notices Kei’s eyes are already on him.
“You’re looking very hungover for someone who wasn’t drinking,” he says teasingly.
Lance mock-gasps. “You don’t like my shades?”
“You look like an asshole who wears sunglasses indoors.”
Lance feels his mouth twist. “It’s not that weird in LA.”
“That’s ‘cause LA’s full of assholes.”
Touché. He takes the glasses off. “Is this better?” Kei just keeps staring at him, as if mesmerised, Lance is used to that sight. Being an easily recognisable celebrity comes with people being constantly starstruck. It’s tiring sometimes, but with the man across the table Lance only finds it sweet, like a small compliment from his lovely date. He chuckles. “See something you like?” He teases, but the man still doesn’t answer. Lance raises an eyebrow. “Kei?”
“Keith.”
“Uh.” Lance blinks. “Gesundheit?”
Kei flinches, then sighs. “My name,” he says. “It’s not Kei, it’s Keith.”
Lance stares at him for a moment. Not a Japanese name, then, in fact very American. Well, Lance thinks it has Gaelic origins, actually, but Keith definitely doesn’t sound Scottish at all - in fact, if he listens in there’s a very subtle, well-hidden Southern lilt that he only notices thanks to having a musician’s ear. “Why did Romelle say it was Kei?”
Keith shrugs, looking away. “My t-shirt says Kei, so everyone calls me Kei.”
Why would his uniform have a wrong name on it? Were the letters T and H ruined in the laundry? Was it a mistake when ordering the shirt? Did Allura mess up - no, impossible; that woman’s meticulous. Did Keith give them the wrong name on purpose?
Lance realises he hasn’t said anything, his mind once more running too fast for his mouth to keep up with. He shakes himself out of it, he really wants to ask the questions running in his head but they’re not that important.
“And you never bothered to correct anyone?”
Keith shrugs again, still avoiding eye contact. Lance starts laughing. “Do you just not care that people call you the wrong name?”
“I’m not really friends with any of my coworkers, so. Not really.”
That surprises Lance. How does one survive working at a club without having besties to suffer with? Besides, the girls both spoke kindly about Keith, so Lance assumed they got along well. “What about Romelle? Or Allura?”
Keith looks at him funny. “Allura’s my boss. I mean, sure, she tries to stay on good terms with her staff, but it’s kind of like having your teacher tell you it’s cool to hang out with them outside of school too, you know?”
“Right.” Lance nods in understanding. “Can’t have the teacher around when you’re talking shit about the teacher.”
“Exactly.” Keith nods sagely in agreement, then realises what he just admitted. “Wait, no!”
Lance laughs. “Chill, dude, I’m not gonna tell her anything.”
Poor guy probably thought Lance would tell on him. As if! Lance is no snitch, thank you very much. Snitches get stitches and end up in ditches.
Keith must be blushing hard under that mask because his entire neck is red. Lance has never before hated anything as much as he hates that mask right now.
Like a sign from the heavens Keith’s drink arrives and he takes the mask off to taste it.
Oh lord. What blissful feeling, has he died and reached Elysium? Have the angels taken him away prematurely? Did someone spike his coffee with a hallucinogen?
Lance knows he’s gaping at the art before him. The lower half of Keith’s face has been haunting his dreams the same way Kakashi-sensei’s face used to haunt them. Lance used to have such a big crush on him (still does), but let’s not talk about that. Lance’s weeb phase is a period that is best left forgotten.
Kakashi-sensei’s face reveal did not disappoint him then, and neither does Keith’s now.
Keith’s face is free of any blemishes, pale skin looking absolutely immaculate. His upper lip seems plump as it stretches around the mug. He has a snub nose and a sharp, defined jaw, but his features still manage to look soft.
If he was a cartoon character, they would’ve drawn him with sharp lines and lots of acute angles, but then his eyes would be big and wide, revealing gentleness hiding inside the rough exterior.
Lance takes a sip of his iced coffee to cool down a little. It’s either the Southern California heat or Keith that’s making him feel so hot inside.
It’s probably Keith. Hot temperatures don’t make people pop boners and Lance is terrifyingly close to doing so.
Keith’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows the coffee. His eyes are closed, as if relishing in the bitter taste. It’s peaceful, but also ridiculously erotic.
“Are you free tonight?” The question slips out of Lance’s overheated brain that clearly turned off its filter.
Keith’s eyes snap open and he puts the mug down, raising an eyebrow. “Subtle.”
Lance flushes. “I’m sorry!” He hides his face in his hands. “You’re just really hot.”
Keith doesn’t say anything and Lance risks a glance through his fingers. His date’s cheeks are slightly pink and he’s biting his lip, looking away.
“I’m technically working, but I might be able to get out of it.”
“I don’t want to get you in trouble.”
Keith shakes his head. “It’s alright, some people owe me a couple favours.”
“You’re sure it’s fine?”
“Yeah, it’s not a problem.”
Lance grins. “Awesome! Where do you wanna go then? I’ll book us a table.”
Keith smirks. “Actually, I was hoping we could just get take out?”
Apparently, Christmas came early and Lance was a good boy because the talking Greek god statue sitting across the table and suggesting they get straight to the good part is the best gift he could have imagined.
Lance swallows. “Sounds great.”
Keith stubbornly refuses Lance’s offer to pick him up and instead asks for his address. If he wasn’t so ridiculously horny he would probably rethink sharing where he lives with a man he’s met exactly three times and doesn’t even know the last name of, but. Well. He is ridiculously horny.
After they parted ways it was already three in the afternoon, and Lance has not been able to stop thinking about Keith. If it was up to him they would not have parted at all but, sadly, turns out they both had things to do - important things. Very important things. Things so important Lance will be in trouble for not being able to finish them tonight. Alas, all he can think about is Keith.
He managed to clean the whole apartment and prepared several cans of beer and three bottles of wine on the coffee table. He doesn’t know what Keith likes so he got pinot noir, sauvignon blanc and champagne. Wait, does Keith even drink? Oh god, what if he doesn’t, Lance totally didn’t ask, he just assumed; what if Keith feels pressured to drink, what if-
There’s a knock on the door and he runs to open it before he can chicken out. On the other side stands Keith with a take out bag.
He smiles awkwardly and raises the bag to pass it to Lance. “Hope you like Thai.”
Nevermind the alcohol, Lance already forgot about it. The universe is clearly rewarding him for something; there’s a hot guy on his doorstep bringing him food and the promise of a good time. Husband material, oh em gee, Lance is gonna write sixty-nine songs about him.
“I love Thai.” Lance grins and pulls him into the apartment, shutting the door behind.
“Eager much?” Keith taunts, but lets Lance lead him into the living room and sit him down on the couch. He eyes the row of booze on the coffee table and tries to hide his amusement, to no avail.
Without waiting for a reply, Keith puts the take out on the table and makes himself comfortable, crossing an ankle over a knee. Lance forces himself to close his mouth before he starts drooling.
Yes, baby, manspread on Lance’s sofa, what a view. He’s never going to wash it and he’ll sleep on it every night, face-first.
Ok, wow, chill. Why is this guy making him so horny?
Wait, Keith said something, didn’t he? Lance has spaced out and he’s pretty sure he did actually drool a little bit.
“What?” He asks, eloquently, wiping his mouth with a hand.
Keith sniggers. “Forget it. Let’s eat before it gets cold. I promise to take care of that tent later.”
Tent - what tent? Lance looks down.
Oh, shit.
He flushes hard - hehe, hard , nice one, Lance - and quickly sits down, crossing his legs. Very uncomfortable, but slightly more dignified. At least that’s what he chooses to believe.
Suddenly, he remembers he’s supposed to be a good host. He clears his throat, feeling blood boiling under his cheeks. He points to the wine. “Would you like anything to drink?”
Keith is doing a very poor job of concealing his amusement, but he indulges Lance with a nod.
The singer stares at him in question and he coughs lightly. “Uh, I don’t know much about wine and I don’t drink beer often, so you pick.”
Lance nods and manages to pour each of them a glass of Dom Pérignon to try and impress his date, it’s the most expensive bottle on the table and Keith works in a fancy bar, so he must know it. Keith is either genuinely oblivious or doesn’t care as he all but downs the champagne like a parched man.
Maybe he’s actually thirsty? Should Lance have brought them some water too?
Keith spares him from any further teasing as they eat. Their small talk flows smoothly, Lance asks about his job and learns Keith got it only because his brother is Allura’s friend, and also a bouncer at Altea. Apparently, he’s the same wall of muscles who was giggling behind Lance’s back as he attempted to rizz up his little brother.
So, Lance already met the family and clearly made a lasting impression. Not a good one, but still a lasting one. Amazing.
“Don’t freak out about that.” Keith is apparently a mind-reader. Or just really observant. Or Lance is simply panicking very openly.
Probably all three.
“Freak out? Me? No. Never,” he denies. Nice save.
Keith snorts. “Trust me, he only looks intimidating. On the inside he’s like a giant teddy bear.”
“A friendly giant?” Lance guesses. “I know someone like that.”
“A lame giant is more accurate.” Keith cringes. “You think he’s cool because he’s a bouncer, but, really, he used to be in a frat.”
Lance chokes on his food, the spicy sauce almost coming out of his nose. He coughs while laughing. “Holy cow, bouncer bro was a frat boy?”
“His name is Shiro,” Keith corrects, trying to hide a smile but Lance still notices the corner of his lips lifting in amusement.
“Shiro the bouncer bro was a frat boy?”
Keith nods, then shudders. “All four years of college. He still acts like it’s something to be proud of.”
Lance flinches in distaste. “Yikes.”
“Don’t worry.” The barback smirks at him. “His husband makes sure to give him enough shit for it.”
Lance cackles as he takes another bite. He’s about to say something else but notices Keith staring at his face. He makes a questioning sound.
“You got some sauce here,” Keith says while pointing to his own chin.
Does he? Probably, Lance has never been a very neat eater. He wipes at his chin and looks at Keith in question. “Better?”
Keith grimaces. “You made it worse somehow.”
Lance knows that. He’s being purposefully obtuse, so Keith can lean in and wipe it for him - a classic romcom trope. He wipes the wrong place again.
“How about now?”
Keith cringes and scoots closer. Lance fights to keep the smug look hidden. All according to plan.
The barback puts his food away, grabs Lance’s face in one hand and with the other he gently rubs a napkin over Lance’s chin. Keith’s own face is so close Lance can barely breathe. His mouth turns dry and he can’t look away.
Lance must have not planned this through as well as he thought he did because right now he feels his heart unable to continue beating. It’s so impossibly quiet around them he can hear the little silent puffs of air coming out of Keith’s nose with every exhale. His brows are still furrowed, but this time in concentration, fully focused on the task of wiping sriracha from Lance’s chin.
His touch is incredibly gentle, his fingertips sliding across Lance’s skin so softly it tickles. When he finally remembers how to breathe again, his sharp inhale brings along a scent of hyacinths, as enthralling as the Sun’s lover himself.
If even gods couldn’t resist, how can a mere human?
Tonight, Keith’s irises seem almost pink in the warm hues of Lance’s living room lamps and the fireplace. He should probably put those flames out; it’s getting far too hot inside.
Keith’s pupils dilate slightly and Lance involuntarily licks his lips.
“There you go,” Keith says quietly, the air around them growing even heavier as he looks up through hooded eyelids and Lance can’t take it anymore.
Who is this man that smells like hyacinths and tastes like a wildfire? Why does he look as if he knew the secret to immortality? How did he end up on Lance’s couch?
“I’m addicted to you, Keith,” he tells him. “I’m an addict and I haven’t even had a taste yet.”
His date chuckles hoarsely; it’s a sound Lance wishes to sample and make into a psalm for the deities who sent this divine creature into his life, who pushed this celestial out of the heavenly realm to grace his existence, who pushed this archangel through his doorstep. “Yet?”
Lance can feel the heat of his own gaze. He’s definitely drunk now - is it the alcohol or is it Keith? “Yet.”
Keith licks his lips and Lance follows the slow movement of a wet tongue leaving a trail of moisture behind it. His eyes turn misty, a nebula growing in outer space. “You’re planning on getting a taste of me, Lance?”
“No, sweetheart,” he answers, swallowing hard. His head is spinning. “I’m planning on getting the full meal.”
He’s not sure who makes the first move, their mouths crashing halfway, eager and desperate to taste one another. It’s obscene, loud, messy, and so incredibly hot Lance feels like combusting on the spot.
Keith isn’t shy, letting his hands explore all known and unknown regions of Lance’s body. One of them stays on his face, keeping them close while deepening the kiss. It’s an odd sensation; the leather of his partner’s glove is cold and coarse against his heated cheek, but Keith’s bare skin is warm and soft as his fingers playfully tug on Lance’s ear or tenderly caress his closed eyelids.
In turn, Lance doesn’t hold back either, grabbing that mullet and pulling on it as soon as Keith’s within reach. His right palm runs up and down the black mop, brushing fingers through the bush and massaging the scalp. He’s been haunted by that hair ever since he laid eyes on it, and he’ll be damned if he cannot touch it. It’s way softer than he expected, it might look like a mess but there aren’t any tangles in it. Once again, Lance is impressed.
He doesn’t stay impressed for long as his brain shuts down from overheating and he soon forgets what he was even thinking about.
There’s already a pleasant ringing in his head, his mind in a haze from whatever drug must be mixed into Keith’s saliva, because there’s no way such an addictive feeling can be natural. He tastes like what Lance imagines the flavour of fire to be; as scorching as it is compelling, wild and all-consuming, burning his throat while begging him to swallow it all.
Though it might just be the hot sauce on their tongues.
The napkin covered in sriracha lands somewhere on Lance’s white carpet as he hastily gets off the bed and pulls Keith along. They wobble for a few moments, trying to find balance without separating their lips for even a millisecond.
Lance blindly leads them to the bedroom, or in its general direction at least. Keith’s back hits the wall a few times, but he doesn’t seem to mind, too keen on making out to stop and walk properly. Honestly, Lance can relate.
He kisses Keith with fervour and hunger, sucking on the plump lips he’s been dreaming about; he finally gets to taste them. There’s no sweet taste, no strawberries or mint, just wine on Keith’s tongue. Lance roams his hands down Keith’s body and settles on his hips, giving them a squeeze. He feels Keith’s own hand under his shirt, feeling up his stomach, pecs and back, eventually tugging the material up until Lance must separate from him to get the rest of the shirt off and toss it somewhere on the floor.
“Fuck, you’re hot,” Keith whispers worshipfully, biting his lip as he ogles the sight before him.
“Have you looked into the mirror recently?” Lance asks and grabs him by the shoulders to pull him in for another kiss. “Or ever?”
“If you’re trying to convince me to have mirror sex, I’m in.”
Lance groans, like actually groans and needs a moment to process this. Does this mean Keith is kinky? Or, at least willing to try out some slightly kinky stuff? Because if yes then Lance must rethink his entire life to figure out what exactly he’s done to deserve this. He must’ve been a really good boy recently for the universe to keep rewarding him like that. Maybe he’s having another wet dream about Keith?
Or, alternatively, he’s dead and this is heaven.
“Fuck, sorry,” Keith rushes out, apparently not realising Lance’s current state is a desperate attempt at not coming on the spot just thinking about fucking in front of a mirror. “Is that, like, a massive turn-off for you?”
Massive turn-off. Yup. That’s exactly what it is. How sweet of Keith to worry. Lance is going to ravish him.
“Nope, just.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m afraid we need to leave mirror sex for another time or I’ll cum instantly.”
Keith chuckles, visibly relaxing. “I’m gonna need you to last a little longer than that.”
“Right.” Get back on track, loverboy, focus. “Let me get used to your sexy body first and then we can go less vanilla.”
“Sounds like you have a lot of plans for tonight.”
“Shut up and kiss me.”
Keith happily obliges.
A few tumbles later they manage to reach the bedroom and Lance instantly pushes Keith on top of the mattress. He wants to grab his shirt to pull it off, only to realise he’s grasping at air and the tee is long gone. Oh, well. He’ll find it somewhere on the floor tomorrow.
Keith is catching up quickly, taking off his own clothes and tugging Lance down to keep kissing, but Lance stops him. He breathes heavily, his eyes fixated on the sight before him.
Realistically speaking, he’s seen Keith’s biceps before, so he’s been mentally preparing himself for this. The man works as a barback, of freaking course he would be ripped. Still, the gloriously sculpted six pack in front of him looks so defined it must be the work of Michelangelo himself.
“Can I fuck you?” Lance blurts out, biting his lip. He doesn’t use the F-word often, but foul language seems more than appropriate for dirty talk.
He hopes Keith will agree, but far from a deal breaker if he says no. There are lots of other fun things to do, they don’t need to have anal, especially after eating spicy food. Lance doesn’t want Keith’s ass to become a tribute in Catching Fire.
See, the thing is, Lance refuses to bottom and he refuses to share with anybody exactly why that is. He will definitely never tell the blessed spirit below him his deepest, darkest, most shameful secret.
Keith’s breathless and his eyes look a little hazy. He blinks up at Lance. “Huh?”
Just like that cat from TikTok. Lance bites his lip to stop the grin from appearing. It’s a noble attempt, but a failure nonetheless. “I asked if I could fuck you.”
“Yeah, sure, just get on with it already.” Keith pulls him down for another kiss and this time Lance lets him.
Impatient brat. Lance might be in love.
He blindly retrieves lube from his bedside table, his lips never leaving Keith’s. He gets rid of the man’s boxers, tossing them somewhere on the floor and sneaks a peek between his legs.
Lance stops making out with Keith whistle appreciatively. “Nice,” he comments and immediately ducks down to put this gorgeous specimen in his mouth.
“Lance- Shit!” Keith chokes as Lance goes down on him.
Now, Lance is a well-known celebrity, which includes many Hollywood party invites - and those parties usually include some orgies. So, let’s just say Lance has sucked a few dicks in his life.
His technique is clearly doing it for Keith too, judging by how he’s groaning and clutching Lance’s hair. He’s about to cover his fingers with lube, when he notices his palm looks dirty, slightly blackened with something. Lance frowns but ignores it for now, he’ll use his left hand instead. He spreads the cool lubricant on his fingers and presses the index one into the body below him.
Good thing he trimmed his nails before this.
Keith’s hole easily loosens up around the digit, so he adds the middle finger almost immediately, making sure to put some more lube on it first. The gooey substance is cold and Keith gasps, but Lance will warm him up soon enough.
He slowly pulls the fingers out and then back in, up to the second knuckle. He bends them, massaging Keith’s walls while still sucking on his cock. He repeats the motion until he feels his partner’s hips rolling to take in more. Lance obliges and presses the fingers in fully, exploring all around Keith’s insides.
It doesn’t take him long to find the P-spot. Keith shouts and tugs on Lance’s hair harder while his legs clutch around his head. Keith has very muscular tights, super thick, totally sexy. But also very strong. Lance kind of cannot breathe.
Is he about to get suffocated between thighs? Oh, what a glorious way to go.
He goes to deepthroat the cock in his mouth because if this is about to become a crime scene Lance doesn’t want the cops to think he didn’t manage to make his partner cum.
Keith is clenching so hard Lance can’t even move his fingers anymore. He must be getting a little red in the face because he’s instantly released and Keith moves away.
“Holy fuck, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Keith pants, checking Lance out for any injuries.
Lance feels a little lightheaded and coughs slightly. “I’m gucci,” he answers, throwing him finger guns.
Keith looks hesitant, worry written all over his face. “Are you sure? Lance, I almost killed you.”
“And it was wonderful, I would’ve died happy.” He chuckles. “Imagine the headlines: ‘Lance McClain smothered by pair of thick thighs,’ or better ‘Man ascended to heaven right before actually dying’.”
Keith’s laughter escapes him before he manages to turn serious again. “Are you definitely fine? I don’t mind stopping here.”
No! “No!” Wait, that sounded too eager. Lance clears his throat. “No, I’m good. Let’s keep going, I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
Lance really won’t mind if it does.
Keith seems sceptical. “I’m the one who fucked up, not you.”
“Puh-puh-puh.” Lance silences him with a finger against his lips. It’s the same lube-covered finger that was up Keith’s anus a few moments ago and he scrunches his nose, eyes going crossed while looking at the offending digit on his face. He takes the finger away and Keith visibly fights himself not to wipe his mouth.
Lance will need to remember not to kiss him right after rimming. If Keith even lets him do that. Oh god, he hopes so; the mental image of Keith riding his face makes his already painfully hard dick twitch.
“Let me worry about that, babe,” he says and manhandles a bewildered Keith onto his stomach. “Do you know any yoga?”
The reply is muffled by the pillow.
“I’ll take that as a no.” Lance grabs the pillow from under Keith’s face and puts it below his hips. “This one,” he says, spreading Keith’s legs almost in a one-eighty and bending the knees, “is called the frog pose.”
Keith’s upper body is fully touching the bed - nice, he’s flexible - and Lance resumes his previous activities. Both of their cocks are still throbbing hard and Lance has no idea how long either of them can last, especially after they both almost saw god - one metaphorically and one literally.
He swiftly finishes opening Keith up and reaches for a condom. By the time he manages to open the packet and put it on, Keith’s impatiently complaining to get him to hurry it up. Lance spanks him for it, but that only gets Keith to moan louder.
Oh, ho-ho. So many kinks to explore. Lance really hit the jackpot with this one.
He spreads an excess amount of lube on his dick and lines up with Keith’s twitching hole. Keith rolls his hips back to get him inside, but Lance decides to be a jerk and tease him a little first. He squeezes Keith’s lovely, round and fat buttcheeks several times and runs his lubed-up cock along Keith’s perineum. The man beneath him is making the most delicious sounds, but they quickly turn into frustrated huffs.
“Fuck, Lance, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna stop playing submissive,” Keith barks.
Lance snorts at that. “Nothing about you is submissive, sweetheart.”
Keith looks back and opens his lips to sass him but in that moment Lance pushes in in one swift motion and that lovely mouth forms the shape of an O, the only sound getting out of it being a long moan.
Keith gives up on arguing and collapses back into the sheets, letting Lance do with him as he pleases. Maybe a little submissive then, or simply too horny to care. But who is Lance not to take that opportunity?
He doesn’t start slow as he normally would, he has a feeling neither of them has a patience for that right now. They’re both close anyway, so he pulls his hips back, then really goes to town.
Lance has always been loud in bed - not only in bed - which, he reasons, either comes with his Leo personality or being a musician. Probably both. Keith, however, is mostly quiet, besides the occasional muffled whine every time Lance’s cock brushes against his prostate. Lance tries to nail it with every thrust, but Keith keeps squirming, pressing his own dick against the pillow under his hips, trying to get some friction.
Lance once again decides to be a good host and lends him a helping hand, literally. It only takes a brush of his palm against Keith’s balls for him to cum with a shout. His hole clenches so hard around Lance he feels his soul getting sucked out through his dick. He follows his partner instantly and collapses onto his back, crushing the shorter man.
They both pant heavily, coming down from the high. Lance’s ears are ringing, there’s an aftertaste of precum in his mouth and his cheek is wet, plastered onto Keith’s sweaty spine, yet somehow, under the heavy smell of sex, he can still detect an aroma of hyacinths.
Their breathing has calmed down, but Lance’s softening dick is yet to leave Keith’s ass, feeling at home there like a sword in a scabbard.
Oh, how lovely the heat around him is, the walls far less resistant now then a couple minutes ago, but still hugging him snuggly, slightly twitching once in a while, as if trying to suck him even deeper.
He’d probably want to stay there forever, but the cum-filled condom still on his cock is a less than pleasant experience.
As if thinking of the same thing, Keith clears his throat and finally asks the fateful question.
“Round two?”
Lance wakes up hearing a loud thud. He squints, his eyes unused to the brightness of the early morning. He usually sleeps with a fancy silk sleep mask, but last night he did not put it on - for an obvious reason.
He rubs at his eyes to make his vision more focused and leans up on his elbow to see the obvious reason half naked on the floor.
“Keith?”
Keith curses and looks back at him apologetically. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Lance is more awake now as he notices Keith has been gathering his things. He frowns.
“Where are you going?”
“Uh,” Keith stutters, avoiding eye contact. “Home?”
A dull pain hits Lance’s chest as the words register in his mind. Was Keith seriously planning to ditch him without even a goodbye? What is this - hump and dump? Fuck and duck? Bone and gone?
All this time Lance has just been a hookup, wasn’t he? Maybe Keith took a picture to gloat about sleeping with a celebrity later.
Shag and brag instead of lay and stay.
He’s about to give Keith a piece of his mind when he sees the expression on the man’s face and falls silent.
Keith is frozen in place, looking anywhere but at Lance. His face is red and his hands are clutching his things so tightly the knuckles turned white. He doesn’t look smug, he looks anxious.
He looks like his presence is disturbing Lance’s peace.
Lance feels another pang in his chest, but for a different reason.
“Do you want to go home?” He asks, gently.
Keith’s breath hitches, still avoiding eye contact. “I-”
“Because I’d rather you stayed,” Lance tells him and Keith gapes, finally meeting his eye. “I told you, sweetheart - I like you. I wanna go out with you again.” He smiles hopefully. “Stay?”
Keith glances at the door one last time before making a decision. He unceremoniously drops all of his stuff on the floor, quickly takes off the jeans he managed to put on before Lance woke up and jumps the singer on the bed.
Lance shrieks as Keith’s body falls right on top of him, but then he’s laughing, happily rolling around in the sheets with who he hopes is his future boyfriend.
God, he’s already obsessed with him.