Chapter Text
Stiff and awkward on the outside of the moment
It’s not my first time being bitter, drunk on the red carpet
Or my first time losing, and it won’t be my last.
Keith did not want to be at the ball in the first place, but Allura had gave him those wide, blue/pink puppy dog eyes and he would be a monster to deny her after that. Being the right hand of Voltron apparently meant he had to be okay with awkwardly standing against a pillar and trying to no look to menacing, but Keith never knew how to look approachable, so he didn’t expect anyone to really talk to him besides Shiro.
He should have known Lance was going to be the odd one out.
“May I have this dance, oh Red Paladin?” Their resident flirt asked, dramatically bowing in front of Keith with an outstretched, white gloved hand. He looked ridiculous in the baby blue tux Coran had dug out of some storage room on the Castleship- the bow tie looked tight and uncomfortable, but the Blue Paladin seemed to not mind it as he raises his head to give the other man an expectant grin.
Keith stares and stares, eyebrows furrowed as he tries to figure out if Lance was messing with him or not. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been messed with in such a way; the Blue Paladin had tried the same thing before; taking his hand back as quickly as he had offered it, flattening the already flat hairs behind his head and laughing when Keith shoved him. So, he feels like he has every right to stare at the outstretched hand as if it would bite him.
Lance seems to think otherwise, as he waits with dwindling confidence, “Keith?” Said man doesn’t know how to label the tone of voice his teammate was using, or why he sounded kind of uncomfortable, but he didn’t care.
“I’m not falling for this again, McClain. Go prank someone else.” He turns towards the circular table full of drinks and food instead of facing his self-proclaimed ‘rival’.
He watches from the corner of his eye as the Paladin straightens slowly, before he’s gone from his peripheral. The Red Paladin avoids turning to watch his teammate leave, by instead making a quick retreat to the nearest pile of offerings- grabbing the only thing that he could probably stomach at the moment. The purple, carbonated drink is bitter and slightly too sweet- kind of like a sour candy- and he focuses on the bubbles on his tongue instead of the pang in his chest left behind by the previous encounter.
He didn’t hate Lance like Lance hated him. He never felt the same type of anger Lance seemed to feel during their first few weeks- movements- in space. He would rather focus on staying sharp and ready to do his job instead of taking part in petty drama. But, Lance has a way of causing Keith to forget about everything around him he should be focusing on, in favor of arguing over something minuscule or completely irrelevant. It drives Keith crazy.
He can’t believe he finds that idiot so attractive. He supposes it can’t be helped; Lance might be lanky, but Keith has seen that man shirtless multiple times, so he knows that even though Lance is long and thin, he also has the lean muscles of a swimmer- it might not make him broad and big, but it’s impressive in its own right. He’s also seen how he seems to care about everyone else in his own odd way- for example; when Pidge stays up too late, he’ll be the one to snatch away her mouse and keyboard so that she couldn’t continue whatever she was working on. This always pissed her off, but running after Lance usually tired her out enough to admit defeat and head to bed. He’s also seen him and Hunk huddled together, trading family stories across the kitchen counters, laughing and smiling after Hunk had reluctantly admitted to how much he missed his little cousins.
So, really, it’s Lance’s fault that he’s so likable while also being the thorn in Keith’s side.
He feels Shiro’s presence before the older man can even speak, so he cuts off whatever he was going to say, “It’s fine. Just another shitty prank.”
“Language.” He doesn’t even have to look to know he’s currently receiving the Disappointed Dad look, “And I just came to say that you should probably pretend to look like you’re not trying to set the tablecloth on fire with your eyes.”
He feels his neck flush pink, “I am not.”
“Are too.” He can hear Shiro’s grin.
“Nope.” Keith drinks the last of his purple drink, ignoring the way it makes his mouth water, and grabs a pink flavor before finally facing his brother, “Why do I even have to be here again?”
A heavy hand lands on his armored shoulder, “Because you are the Red Paladin, the right hand of Voltron and a vital member of this team.” Shiro’s eyes are so honest and kind that Keith has to look down at his drink to escape feeling too seen.
“Whatever.” He sips the drink and is pleased to find that this one tastes more sweet than sour, “I’m going back to my pillar now.” He ignores Shiro’s disappointed sigh as he walks back to his previous place.
Sharp eyes scan the room; skipping over drunkards and non-threatening aliens, just to stop when he spots the figures dancing. His grip on his glass’ stem tightens minutely and he feels the muscles making up his back tense. Lance was dancing slowly with a pink alien Keith doesn’t know the name of, seemingly talking about something that makes his eyes sparkle under the golden-hued lights from the large chandlers.
He knew this would happen- of course, Lance couldn’t keep his hands to himself at these types of functions; he’s either dancing with a random alien most of the time, or he’s throwing his arm around a stranger’s shoulders as they talk about the Coalition. Keith should be used to this sight- so, why does it make his chest tight and his stomach churn?
He tears his gaze away from the couple and instead searches for his other teammates, taking a sip from the sweet beverage to have something to do with his hands. Hunk was talking with an alien who seemed to be deeply interested in whatever he was saying, Pidge had a crowd of aliens at least three heads taller than her who all seem to be taking mental note about whatever she was explaining, and Allura had found Shiro, so now they were arm-in-arm making the rounds- likely speaking with politicians and whoever else was worth their undivided attention tonight. They all seemed okay and happy, so he subconsciously found his eyes drawn to the dance floor once again.
He drowns the rest of his second drink when he sees how close Lance and the alien had gotten- the subtle burn a pleasant feeling apposed to the green-eyed monster trying to claw it’s way out of his chest plate.
His vision begins to blur at the edges and he squints to lessen the feeling of instability that begins to set in. A waiter passes by and he barely gets the empty glass onto the tray before finding an empty table nearby to sit down at. His gloved hands reach up to cradle his now-burning face and he inhales deeply.
Was I drinking alcohol this whole time?! It seemed like the literal universe was out to get him, specifically, tonight. His dizziness slowly fades until he can finally look back up at the room, his too-warm face feeling refreshed by the nearby open window blowing a gust of cool air in his direction. His ears can’t seem to focus on any specific sounds, but that’s fine. He scans the area he can see, ignoring when he randomly sees double, and stops when he finds who he was subconsciously searching for.
Lance and that stranger seemed to have finally finished their dance and the Blue Paladin bows to kiss the alien’s hand in an overly-flirty gesture of thanks, blue eyes trained on the person he’s with and seemingly ignoring everyone around him until he rises again and they head in separate ways.
It takes Keith too long to realize Lance was heading his way, and it takes him until the man is already standing before him to realize that he’s been trying to speak with him, “Keith?” His voice sounds like Keith’s head is underwater and his brows furrow in concern when he doesn’t receive a response, “Hey, buddy? Can you hear me?”
“‘m not your ‘buddy’.” The Red Paladin slurs, resting his chin on the palms of his hands heavily, “Why are you here?”
Lance’s concern shifts into a fond humorous smile, “Come on- let’s get you back to the Castle.” He reaches out, arm easily circling Keith’s own and lifting him up with no issues, “I’ll shoot a message letting Shiro know where we went later, but I’m getting you out of here now before you can do anything dumb.”
Keith’s face is probably an embarrassing shade of red from such close proximity- which is ridiculous, because they’ve literally been in closer positions while sparring, but Drunk Keith can’t think past the mantra of Lance is touching me, Lance smells good, Lance is so strong ever since he was manhandled out of his seat.
The air outside brings some coherent thoughts back to Keith’s brain and he inhales the fresh air greedily, “Never let me drink again.” The dizziness is back, causing Keith to sway to the side before Lance straightens him again, an arm now wrapping around the shorter male’s waist to keep him from falling.
“Roger that.” There’s a soft laugh that is barely heard before he continues, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk before. It’s kind of funny.” He gets weakly shoved for his words and he laughs louder this time, resulting in Keith’s entire head to feel like it’s burning, “Do you always get so red when you drink, or are you just getting flustered by my charming presence?”
Keith groans at the remark, refusing to even humor the Blue Paladin’s teasing right now, “I wouldn’t know, I’ve never drank before.” It’s true- he saw the statistics for kids in the system experiencing addiction and he didn’t want to become a part of it. The thought causes a flash of anxiety to spike in his stomach before he feels Lance’s fingers squeeze his side to keep him from tilting sideways and he’s being brought back to reality, watching as Lance unlocked his bedroom door with his hand and slowly helping Keith to sit down on his thin mattress.
“Let’s get your armor off. I’m sure you would hate yourself in the morning if you have to deal with a sore body along with your first ever hangover.” He begins by taking Keith’s gloves off, then his arm guards. He diligently and carefully removes each piece of armor until Keith is left in only his black bodysuit, “I think you will kill me in the morning if I helped you into actual pajamas, so we’re gonna leave you like this for now.” He’s still kneeling between Keith’s knees, hands resting in his lap and watching Keith expectantly, a mirthful smile forming the longer Keith just stares, “Keith? You should probably lay down so I know you won’t fall off the second I turn my back.”
The Red Paladin is broken out of his daze, eyes blinking, until the words process and he’s slowly laying on his side, head positioned on his pillow and the other man finally stands, gently pulling the thin blanket to cover his teammate’s body. He bends down to grab the discarded armor and places it on a nearby desk, the gentle tapping of him placing each one down soothing Keith into a deep sleep.
When he awakes to the planet’s morning light filtering through the small window in his room assaulting his sensitive eyes, he groans deeply. The bodysuit had made his whole body sweaty in the night and his mouth felt as dry as the desert he lived in for a year. Once the light wasn’t overwhelmingly painful, Keith rolls over and spots a glass of water along with- what he assumes is- Altean aspirin, along with a blue sticky note that reads, “Feel better soon!!! -Your Favorite Rival.” With a small heart in the corner. Keith would rather let the hangover kill him before he admits to anyone about how his heart warms- or about the violent blush that overtakes his cheeks.
He tucks the note into his bedside drawer, under his journal and away from prying eyes that might ask him why, exactly, he was saving the stupid note from stupid Lance McClain.