Archive of Our Own ^beta

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

This is the story of how I, Lance McClain, died.

…Nah, I'm just kidding.

Ahem. Sorry folks, gotta warm up the pipes, shoot the stuff, you know how it is.

"Lance."

Sorry! Ahem.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

THIS is the story of how I, Lance McClain, saved a spy and restored peace throughout the universe.

"That is NOT what happened!"

"Well, how would YOU tell it, Keith?!"

"Not like that!"

"Mr. Pawadins?"

A little Altean girl raises her hand very politely.

She is the birthday girl in the circle of kids sitting politely, vying for their war heroes attention. Lance, sitting on a chair next to Keith in their Blade of Marmora attire, notices her polite raise of a hand and nods in her direction with a smile.

"Yes, Princess?"

The little girl's friends—one a Balmeran, the other an Olkarian—giggle on each side of her. She asks, but her question is too quiet to hear. Keith stands, walks around the circle and kneels down, beckoning her with a flick of the fingers towards his ear. She leans in, whispers, and he nods with bemusement.

"Ooooh, uh huh. Yup. Gotcha."

He stands, walks back to Lance, sits down in his chair, and leans over. He whispers with a chuckle on the curl of his lips, and Lance straightens at the question, a flash of pink sporting across his cheeks.

"OH! You, you wanna know that? Uh..."

The little girl smiles, wide brim with the cutest dimples making an appearance, pink marks flickering on her cheeks, and he knows he can't say no to the birthday girl.

"Sure, one sec."

He clears his throat with a theatrical grin, smirks with a quirk of the eyebrow, and begins.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

THIS is the story of how I, Lance McClain, and my Space Ranger Partner, Keith Kogane, fell in love.

"Waaay better than the last two titles."

Hush, you.

(Lance can feel the eye roll from over here with his classic cheeky half-smile, even though he's not looking in his direction. Jerk.)

Our story begins beyond the cosmos, on a planet at the edge of the universe—far, far away…

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

"KEITHHHHH!!!"

"WHAT ARE YOU—OOF!"

"COME ON, COME ON, COME ON, WE GOTTA GO!"

Keith and Lance were in the Olvarion Orbit, in the middle of a Blade of Marmora mission that had gone a little wrong. Maybe too wrong. Sort of.

The camp they were handing out supplies at had been swarmed with rebels. And not the good kind.

It wasn’t looking good for our two handsome space ninjas.

Lance had raced over to Keith after he found him hiding in the shadows, mysteriously watching (he was in stealth mode, like a ninja). Lasers were firing all over the place. Lance observed in the corner of an abandoned house near the campsite that there was a bomb about to detonate at any minute.

They were right in the thick of it.

So, he raced over to his hiding place, latched onto his stupidly lovely bicep that was hard as a rock, pulled him up like he was a feather in weight, and ran for the hills, narrowly missing a rogue laser.

"Where's the team?!"

"Lance, what are you—?!"

"I said, where's the team, Keith?!? Listen to me and keep running!"

Keith ran alongside him, clicking his earpiece. "Acxa, Zethrid, Ezor, do you copy?"

"Copy." "Copy!!" "What now?!"

"What's your status? Lance and I are on route to the ships," Keith confirmed in haste.

Acxa started, "We've secured most of the campsite and have all the citizens in our ships with us that we can find. The rebels have been detained and are currently with Zethrid in another ship."

Ezor added, "You better hurry up guys! There's a bomb near your location."

"A BOMB?!" Keith yelled into his earpiece.

"You, uh, maybe, have…" Ezor considered, and for whatever reason, seemed giddy at the height of chaos. "Twenty seconds?"

Zethrid started shouting through the earpiece, "We need to get a move on, NOW."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

They weren’t going to make it back to the ships in twenty seconds. Keith reprimanded himself, the one time Kosmo was at a vet appointment with Shiro?! Really?!

Our brave hero Lance McClain, the Cool Ninja Sharpshooter™ made a split second decision.

He saw a bunker entrance as they were running, abruptly stopping in their tracks. He didn’t say a word. He grabbed his rifle, shot the lock open—Pow, Pow, POW—yanked the bunker door open, grabbed Keith’s hand, and pulled them both inside to safety.

Keith was impressed. He thought Lance was so cool, and brave, and smart.

"Can you, I don't know," Keith angrily threw his hands up in the air, whisper-yelling into the void of darkness they were in. "Communicate with me when you do that?!"

Lance leapt down the stairs, ignoring him like the coolest guy in all the galaxy. He had much bigger fish to fry.

(He yelped at the bottom of the stairs, almost tripping over his feet when he landed.)

It was fine, he had it covered. "Jesus, Santa Maria—"

"Lance!"

"Shhh, I'm assessing!"

"We have maybe less than ten seconds, Lance."

"Then STOP whisper-yelling from the TOP of the stairs and come find a hiding spot with me, you stupid head!"

Keith marched down the stairs, deadpanned and unimpressed. He rolled his eyes, but he knew Lance was right. He always was.

"Stupid head… really?"

Keith tsked, head swivelling left to right — there was a table, a few chairs, some shelves, and, well, he didn’t get more time than that before Lance grabbed his arm and yanked him through another mysterious door, leading them both into a very tiny closet. They both heard a click from the slide of the door.

They ended up sitting upright on the floor, Keith crowded over Lance: face to face, eye to eye, nose to nose. They both swallowed the lumps in their throat, laying lower than six feet under, waiting for the bomb to go off.

Then, it did.

They gasped, flinched forehead-to-forehead as the explosion outside popped their eardrums, ground rumbling and shaking the closet with the aftershock.

The closet shook, trembled, and there was no room to move.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Lance felt his heart pounding in his throat, a bead of sweat falling over his temple. Keith felt his skin bristle, his hands on the walls next to Lance’s head clenched. They stared at each other.

And then, it stopped.

Keith broke the silence.

He swallowed to pop his eardrums back in order, and spoke to Lance hushed and low, barely hearing his own shaky voice. "You okay?"

Lance let out a deep breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

"Shit. That was way too close," he whispered, voice frail. "You, Keith?"

Keith noted the new graze on his face and frowned, "Fuck," he wiped the three-marked cut on the side of his jawline across his cheek gently with his thumb, "Sorry, does that hurt at all?"

Lance felt the sting, but shook his head and tried for a short laugh; it sounded more like a choked breath.

"Aww, who knew you could be so gentle?" Lance deflected, brows knitted close together and voice softer than intended. He coughed, loud and harsh, and Keith frowned once more with worry. He turned over his shoulder to open the door.

Click.

Click. Click. Click.

"Stupid door."

Keith pulled, yanked, twisted, curled, used all of his strength.

…Fuck.

"We're locked in," Keith exhaled.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

The children gasp, awe, cover their mouths in an entertaining amount of shock.

"You were stuck in a closet together?!" the Balmeran child says.

A Galran child asks their Altean friend in a cute, high-pitch whisper, "Psst, what's a closet…?" Another child, a Bii Boh Bi youngling, yells 'CLOSET!!' because kids are funny like that wherever you go in this universe.

One child raises their hand, cross-legged on the ground. A Yelmor.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Keith asks in a gentle tone. It's very attractive.

Lance agrees, you know? With the way he's staring. Enraptured by how the sun embellishes the purples in his eyes like a sparkling gemstone.

The Yelmor child clears their throat very seriously, frills fluttering with the effort. “Did you… make a plan? Or did you panic?”

Keith’s mouth quirks upwards, like he’s deciding how honest to be with a roomful of children. He rolls his eyes with an exaggerated side eye towards Lance.

“I… may have panicked,” he says. “Briefly.”

There’s a ripple of laughter from the children.

Lance snorts. Loudly. He doesn’t even try to stop himself.

“Briefly,” he repeats, doing air quotes. He leans back in his chair with amusement. “That’s a veeeery generous interpretation.”

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

Keith, as he was on all fours on top of an injured Lance, balancing his hands next to Lance's head, kicked the door with a loud SMACK, which… didn’t help at all. It wasn’t wooden; it was a heavy titanium-like metal. It didn’t swing; it slid open. At most, he would’ve been able to burn a hole in the door with his bayard once upon a time.

But they didn’t have those anymore.

They were completely stuck.

He pressed his earpiece with a deep sigh. He couldn’t hide his heart pounding or the tremble in his voice when he spoke into the earpiece: "D-Does anyone copy? Hello?"

Nothing.

"God," Keith looked back to Lance, who seemed distracted by the shape of his lip. His eyes flicked up at Keith, a little too late for Keith to miss the subtle movement. "Lance."

"Hm?"

"Can you shoot your rifle on the door?" Keith whispered, panic laced under his tone.

Lance took a glimpse at the rifle lying next to him, and let out a weak chuckle. Keith frowned. He wouldn’t like his next response either.

"No, I," Lance coughed, lung deep. "I can't."

Fuck.

"It'll seal us in from the e-edges, or it'll deflect like Beskar and kill both of us."

"How do you know?" Keith asked, a little desperate with the way they were forehead to forehead and oh, so close to each other.

Lance wheezed a whisper, setting a fire alight in Keith's patience: "I know my gun, Keith. We're gonna have to wait this out until the team finds us."

Keith tsk'd, closed his eyes with a deep sigh and clenched his fists against the walls.

Typical.

He felt a hand creep over his cheek, a thumb brushing over his scar, and Keith lifted his sight to meet the gaze gently directed in front of his. He's swallowed, lost in the lustrious treasure trove blues that lay bare with a hint of humour behind them.

"Hey," Lance comforted. "We'll be fine, Keith." The brisk stroke kept Keith steady. "It'll just take a while for them to find us."

Keith felt his walls crumble, "B-But you're hu—"

"Shh. Trust in the team…" And Keith couldn't deny those sparkling eyes and dazzling grin, "…or, if anything, trust… in me?"

Keith thought about this very, very carefully. Keith placed his hand over his with deep contemplation and Lance gasped low with surprise.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And finally…

"No."

Lance guffawed, "Oh, come ON—" and wheezed out his next breath, abrupt pains exploding out of his lungs. The older of the two gifted, in return, an exasperated sigh.

"We need to find a way out, Lance." Keith grumbled.

He looked around the cramped room, analysing every angle of it with his Galran-like vision on the off chance that the room might grow bigger. Lance graced him with a deadpanned look, removed his hand from his cheek. What a hard-headed asshole.

After a while, Keith gave up.

With nothing to do, he laid on top of Lance and sighed as if the world had personally offended this man.

"Have you given up yet?" Lance whispered.

"No," Keith stubbornly groaned.

Lance rolled his eyes, looked to the side with a pained moan of his name.

With that, Keith finally relented, "Alright, maybe. Fine. Fine." He rolled his eyes—not like Lance could see it in the dark. "We'll wait it out."

For a while, there was not a sound between them, just breathing noises and pained sounds from Lance. Eventually, Lance pulled out his datapad with half-full battery, the light of the device graced the room with a muted light, and like a lightbulb popping over his head, he had an idea.

"Hey," He smirked with mischief.

His soft spoken tone mixed with that natural whisk of Lance ignites a flare of something in his chest. So, Keith sighed. "Yeah?"

"Do you wanna play truth or dare?"

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

The Balmeran child next to the birthday girl raises their hand, piqued with curiousity.

"Yes, sweetheart?" Lance asks politely.

"How long were you in the closet?"

Keith barks out a laugh. Lance observes him like a hawk eyeing its prey, anticipating his next words.

Of course, he was right, because he's situationally very aware of how his mind works now: Predictably, like a dick.

"A very long time," Keith snorts, "You could say 78 episodes of a TV sh—"

An elbow to the side stops Keith in his tracks, almost falling out of his chair. The children tilt their head like a pack of confused puppies, while Lance blushes up a storm all over his cheeks with a pretty little frown.

"It was a while," Lance coughs, tries to fan away the colour from his cheeks. "But, we got busy."

Keith bites his lip, a huff of laughter chiming through the confines.

Lance glares at him in the hopes that it shuts him up very quickly. The curl of his lips stain into a cute smirk, evidently not sorry for the way he's acting in front of children.

"Sorry," Keith was not.

The children wait patiently for the next part of the story.

Lance turns his head back to the children with a cool-as-a-cucumber smile, "As I was saying…"

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

"Truth or Dare?"

"Truth."

"You've said 'Truth' like a thousand times!"

"Three, and that's because we're stuck in a closet. What sort of dare can we do in here in the darkness of a closet, Lance?!"

Lance could think of one. "Touche," But he wasn't brave enough to do that. "If you were to eat any food right now across the galaxy, what would it—"

"Pizza."

He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "Oh?"

"A pizza with everything except olives and sardines."

Lance blew a low whistle, "Extra cheese?"

"Yup," Keith bit his lip with a nod, hearing the rumbles of hunger cravings inside of his empty stomach. "Give me the stuffed cheesy crust too."

"Damn."

"Why is that so surprising?" Keith scoffed, "I'm hungry."

"Well," he considered his line of thinking, and leaned in with a curious hum. "Well, I mean, I just, I don't know how you keep that," placed a hand on his robe and takes a deep breathe because his lungs are literally on fire (and not because he's trying to steady himself even thought he's laid down on the ground), "Nice physique of yours in tact with that sort of request."

Keith smirked in the darkness. Again, not like Lance could see it, but he felt the aura of it radiate off of his devastatingly, annoyingly attractive face.

"You check me out?" he said, surprised; colour him intrigued by this outstanding revelation.

Lance, being the cool sharpshooter he is, deflected like a professional: "Do you check me out?"

"Answer the question."

"Answer me first."

Keith glared, having had enough of his obvious deflection tactics. "YOU asked SECOND."

Lance huffed with a pout, "And I saved our bootylicious butts, so THERE," and then puffed out some air and looked to the side, knee up and arms crossed like the coolest guy ever (…more like a petulant child being told no).

The silence is palpable…

Until.

"I do."

Lance looked over, "Do what?"

"Check you out." Keith spoke with honesty. Lance flushed at the admission. He opened his mouth to respond, but Keith interrupted, "Like a hotel key, I check out of Hotel Lance so fast, you can see a dust cloud behind me like those old cartoons."

Lance let out a deadly groan of frustration, such as so, it probably could've woken up the entire planet with his disappointment. "Oh my god, go away, asshole."

His pained response had Keith snickering above him, right into his ear like the dick he is so Lance could hear all the colours of the wind of his voice in 4K. He felt warmth crawling up his neck at lightning speed. With the results embedded into his humiliated skin, he refused to look his way.

"Oh come on, it was funny."

"Humour is subjective."

"Mk," Keith conceded. "Truth or Dare, Lance."

Lance pouted, pretty and pointed at the wall: "…Dare."

"I dare you to look my way—"

Lance cut in with a groan, "You are SHAMELESS."

Keith pushed back with a smirk and a coax, "Come onnnn," that (unfortunately) did the trick for Lance in mysterious ways. So, he turned his way and is nose-to-nose, on the edge of lip-to-lip once more.

"Fine. Happy?"

"Yeah," Keith sharpened his eyes and treated him with a curled, dimpled half-smile, "There you are."

Ooooooooh, heaven above, dios mio, what the cheese.

They felt each other's breath, chaotically distracting in the quiet noise of the closet.

"Um," Lance stupendously fluttered his lashes, bit his lip with a coy smile. "Truth or—"

"Dare."

Oh, quiznak.

"Fine. I dare you to…" At the speed of light, Lance made an incredible dare with the power of imagination and creativity, "…make a song with your feet and watch me guess it."

Keith stared at him with vast astonishment. A silence followed.

"…Well?"

And Keith Kogane, the cooler, grizzled swordsman extraordinaire, was never one not to take a challenge.

(Lance omits this next part, you know, for the kiddos listening.)

He braced his hands against the wall by the sides of Lance's face, back into his original position. He shifted his leg up then down—and a hitch of breath flies out of Lance's mouth.

Their eyes blew out of their sockets. Lance covered his mouth with the palm of his hands in sheer, god foreshaken-bacon mortification, his cheeks a horrific shade of red. Keith looked like someone stuck a pin needle into his buttcheek, speechless beyond his means.

It was the prettiest noise he has ever heard in his life.

Keith's pocketing that one for much, much later.

"Sorry," Keith said, way too cool and chill for how he's feeling hot under the collar right now. Lance moved his own hands away from his mouth, and tried for words: "It's… uh, okay. Not your fault."

Lance, actually, kind of liked it. Keith liked it, too.

Is it hot in here?

(Okay, we're back in action—not that kind, but you know.)

Keith puts a sturdy foot on the door and tapped away to a non-existent rhythm.

Tap. Tap Tap. Tap. Tap Tap. Tap Tap Tap.

"Hint?" Lance asked (after he calmed down, of course).

"Speedwagon," Keith delivered.

Lance mulled it over in his cotton-stuffed brain. Tried to envision the rhythm. Hummed it against his tongue. "Is it… an 80s song?"

"Yes," Keith confirmed. And by George (whomever that is), Lance thinks he's got it.

"I can't fight this feeling anymore?"

Keith could cheer, would cheer actually if they weren't so cramped in here. Instead, he leans his forehead down onto his and breathed a sigh of joy that touches his lips in alarming ways. "So, you do have taste in music."

"Oh, go to hell, Kogane."

Keith barked out a laugh and feels gravity shifting the tides—bringing them much closer than before. "I'll take you with me and we'll get those disgusting churros you like from a hellish theme park, McClain."

"Firstly," Lance argued, "They are delicious," his tone then lowers with a flirtatious quip, "Secondly, if I had to guess, I'd say you're fraternising on the job with a guy who's probably bruised a rib."

"Oh, please," Keith rolled his eyes, extremely unamused.

"Pretty, cool, and badass? A triple threat to your heart," and Lance lifted his brow and does these even cooler finger guns next to his head, fluttered his lashes, and sensually whispered, "Kachow."

And Keith surprisingly said nothing.

Which Lance appreciated the silence (he truly did not; his heart was palpatating and he second guessed himself, confidence shot down in a sharpshooter's heart at the lack of response).

He felt light-headed, unsure of whether it was the bruising, the confined space, the lack of oxygen shared between them, the pain in his chest and cheek, his vision getting lighter and brighter.

But Lance kept it together.

(Lance omits the next part of the story, too)

"Hah," He shook his head, and Lance proceeded awkwardly, "I'm kid—"

"Truth or Dare."

Lance felt his breath get caught in his chest at the heavy shift in the air, and answered to his authoritative tone like a cadet to a lieutenant; suddenly to attention to his command: "Dare."

Keith grimaced, blushed, second guessed himself but stands (leans over) firm—lips edging against his like the hottest of spices burning his tongue.

"I dare you to kiss me," he stated quickly, cheeks flooded with ambitious colour.

When Lance didn’t immediately retort, Keith looked over his shoulder at the door (to calm the colour from his face), then back to his shook face. Lance looked stunned beyond belief, two parts torn.

"IN… HUH?!" Lance whisper-shrieked, coughing up a storm of roses. His cheeks twinkled, giving away that the idea might not be so bad to him.

"You got a better place to be than trapped under me, pretty boy?" he dared with a growl.

Hot.

(Ahem, back to our regularly scheduled program)

Lance, shocked and bothered, met his piercing eyes in the dark, thought of how much time they're going to be in this damn closet, and makes a well-thought out, split-second decision.

Remember how we said he kept it together? Well, he did not.

The cool ninja sharpshooter passed away; died handsomely in his arms.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

The birthday girl is awe-struck, captured by every word thus far. The rest of the children gasp at the plot twist, and one Bii Boh Bi child yells, 'PASTA!' just because they like yelling words.

Meanwhile, Keith looks at him like he's grown a third head.

"Passed away?"

"Yep." He says proudly, crossing his arms with a definitive smirk. "I died."

"You passed out… for five seconds."

Lance scoffs at him with a vicious side eye, "Are you implying that I am an unreliable narrator? Details, schmetails, Keith."

Keith exasperatedly rolls his eyes. The Olkarian child raises their hand with a worried expression.

"Yes, cutie?" Lance asks with all the gentle pizzazz in the world.

"You died… in the closet?"

Keith snorts.

"Unfortunately so," Lance sadly confirms.

A child—the Yelmor—begins to weep softly next to their friends.

Keith turns his head to Lance with a look of 'look what you've done' with bite of his lip, subtly trying not to laugh at the child's devastation.

Meanwhile, Lance stiffens in his seat, beginning to panic.

He just wanted to sound cool and now he's made a child cry. Nice one.

"Nonono, NO. I'm still here! Aw, please don't cry!" his hands flail gesturing across the air, sweat drops animated, "I was kidding, I-I promise!"

The Yelmor child sniffles, softens their cries with a, "Really?"

"I-uh, I was taking a nap! YES!" He puts his hand on his chest, "See? I'm still here."

"Well done, Sleeping Beauty." Keith whispers with the faintest of smirks curling into his dimple. Lance slowly turns his head towards him like the Exorcist and whispers, "Shut UP, you—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Bwades?"

A soft voice rings through the gaggle of children—a human girl with brown hair, green eyes, and a red dress speaks up politely, "How did you wake up?"

Quick-witted and sharp, Lance creates an idea on the spot without being too dishonest. He clears his throat, and looks at Keith fondly—he returns the look with a sweet smile.

"With true love's kiss," He confirmed. "Yes, my best friend, my prince charming," he winks at his lovely man, "woke up me just in time to be rescued with a true love's kiss."

A melody of 'Awws' chime through the children.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

George Michael was playing from Lance's datapad, the saxophone melody low in volume inside the claustrophobic closet.

They were making out sloppy-style as if they were the last two people ever, with plans to repopulate on this side of the galaxy.

Their lips slid wet and messy across the other's in a love-drunk dance. Hands glided through Keith's hair. Keith's knee was back in that spot with purpose. Both their faces were a blaze of hues. Lance's eyes were closed, thoughts clouded as he enjoyed the crash of lips, the taste of his tongue, the sweet decadence of the other. Keith, meanwhile, couldn’t help himself and micro-grinded against the other while drunk on his tongue in a love-hazed dance of physical, soul-intertwined attraction.

Keith sucked on his lip as they pulled apart—breath short and stuttering—they stared, and stared, and stared at each other.

Eyelids heavy. Breathing heavy. Noses brushing.

Lance's hand glided to the scar on his cheek.

Keith melted in the palm of his hand.

And like two orbiting stars, they crashed into each other again.

Kisses deepened, tongues blazing, hungry for the pressure of their lips. They both moaned and groaned as they experimented into the other's mouth, and it was so…

It was neverending. It was sloppy. It was messy.

It was world-shifting and it was so them.

And with true love's kiss, the spell was broken, the door opened, and they lived happily ever after.

💥 BAM 💥

"Hm?" Lance looked over Keith's shoulder.

Keith stared, perturbed. "Oh, what now—"

💥 BAM 💥

The door dented. They couldn't move anyway if they tried right now, but they're not in the most safe-for-work position too. With haste and the inevitable interruption underway, Keith makes a quick decision.

"Lance?"

Lance looked to him and leaned into his space again, his gentle eyes analysing his face—or at least what he can see of it—in the dark. "Hm?"

"I love the way your hair curls and frames your face. You're very pretty."

What?! Lance thought as he burst into a fire truck red colour.

"I love the way you lead me out of trouble."

His jaw dropped.

"And I like you," Keith confessed in the heat of the moment. "A lot… A lot more than you probably think."

Lance blinked. Shivered. Looked away, shy and embarrassed.

"Geez Louise, Santa Claus, do you mind warning me of the date before you gift me with that present?"

Keith blinked in confusion, "What do you mean Santa—"

Lance cut in, kissed him with so much devotion it almost sent Keith sideways. He reciprocated desperately in kind, mouths bruised and knees weak.

💥 BAM 💥

The door dented, slid open, and a light flashed onto them. A loud ping disrupted the room, Acxa pressing on their earpiece (which also acted as a tracking device).

"Thank god we found—oh."

Acxa stilled with a rare blush across her blue complexion. Ezor slipped to the other side with curiosity, which transformed into a smarmy grin on their face, "Well, well. Didn't know leadership meetings were this raunchy."

Zethrid leaned in, towering above the two in the middle, noticed their positions, and laughed the loudest, "do you boys need a moment, or…"

Keith, with a rush of flooded humiliation, carefully stood up and pulled Lance to a stand. Lance wobbled upwards, leaned into his shoulder, and almost kaputted on the spot with a grunt and weaker knees.

Keith frowned, and took on the serious leader persona instantly.

"We need medical assistance for Lance."

"Wow!" Ezor cackled, slapping the frame of the door like it was the funniest thing they had seen. "What did you do, Keith? Was it all of that Galra stren—"

"Ezor." Acxa reprimanded. Zethrid also cackled, but they thankfully dropped it. "Do you need me to take him back?"

And suddenly, Keith smirked like a wildcat.

"Nah," he said. "I'll just cradle him in my arms. It's fine."

Lance grimaced, whispered a derogatory insult and almost threw up at the thought. But then Keith did it, and it wasn’t so bad being princess cradled to the ship into a sunset happily ever after, was it?

And that was the story of how the cool, ninja sharpshooter and the cool, ninja samurai fell in love.

The… End.

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

The birthday girl claps, very pleased with the story's outcome. All the children become an echo of "Yays!" And "Aww!" while Keith and Lance look at each other with pride.

"Did you enjoy that, guys?" Lance asks with flair. They all nod politely, a gaggle of 'yessss,' like school children do. Except the Bii Boh Bi kid, who yells, "YEAH!!"

"And now we're a power duo, traversing the universe one step at a time and telling stories to kids such as yourself," Keith adds kindly. He stands up with a grunt, hands slapping his knees while Lance looks up from his seat with adoration. "Alright, now who wants cake and photos, huh?"

The kids cheer at Keith's suggestion, all rushing to stand and running towards the ex-paladins. Lance giggles at their youthful excitement, and sort of wishes he was still a kid before the war, filled with just as much eagerness and energy to become a pilot. He stands too, and all the children follow like ducklings to ducks to the cake table.

They both begin to pass out cake slices while the parents watch with joy from a little further away. Lance hands out the final piece before they grab their own, and feels vanilla frosting on the tip of his nose. He blinks, turns to Keith who's smiling a little too fond.

"Sorry," he shrugs, about to dig into his slice while feigning ignorance, "finger slipped."

Poke.

Keith blinks in surprise, feeling the faint scent of cake invade his nostrils, and looks to a smiley, mischievous Lance.

"Sorry," he shrugs, "finger slipped."

Keith grins, whispers in his ear: "Watch yourself or I'll cradle you again later."

And Lance giggles, sending him a flirtatious look, "Keeeeith, we're at a kids party." Nudges him with his hip, "Behave, you."

"What? I'm just saying, you're looking very delectable like this cake."

Lance flows a hand through his own hair with a smile and crescent moon closed eyes, marks sparkling under the New Altea sun. Keith feels warm sunshine flood his veins at the sight.

"Mhm, of course I am."

"Aaaaand I take it right back," Keith says, fondly rolling his eyes and diving right into his cake slice with a handy dandy spork.

"Too late," Lance inspects his nails like an unbothered king, "Four second policy and compliments cannot be refunded without a receipt. Sorry, schnookums."

Before Keith can retort, a tiny voice chimes in.

"Mr. Pawadins?"

They look down at the sound and see the birthday girl, who's pressing her little fingers together, swaying side to side, and kicking a foot in the grass. Her Mother is right behind her, kneeling next to her in parental support.

"May I, uh…"

They both kneel in front of her, but Keith takes the lead: "Yes, our birthday princess?"

Lance bows to her theatrically, yanks a Juniberry from the ground and laces it in her hair. She smiles like a giggly moonbeam, wondrous appreciation in her laughter.

Her mother chimes in with grace and poise, "Thank you for all that you've done today. May she have a photo with you two?"

Lance, ever the polite boy from Cuba, speaks up with the respect he would give his Mama, "Of course!"

"Come on up, cutie," Keith says as he holds her in his arms and stands in front of the cake table. "Where do you want us, ma'am?"

Her mother graciously smiles, "Oh, right here is fine—"

"Pwincess Allura's statue…?" She suddenly, meekly chimes in like a spoonful of shy sugar. She points at the statue towering over a ways down with a giddy smile.

Lance & Keith share a fond look with a matching smile.

"Why, of course, your majesty," Lance says with a posh accent, a extra dose of animation in his efforts to please the birthday girl. He places a palm against the back of Keith's waist, "After you, Team Leader."

"Why thank you," Keith winks at him, "Team Leader."

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

Under the New Altea sun, Keith and Lance take a lovely photo with the birthday girl. Her marks and Lance's stand out in the sunlight, while Keith holds the princess in his arms. The wind gentle breezes by, petals flowing behind them in the background.

"Say… Juniberry Cake!"

They all say in unison (including the little girl): "Juniberry Cake!"

The mother takes a photo with her datapad and smiles.

♡ The. End. ♡

"Laaaance."

Oh! Right. Ahem… And they ALL lived...

✨ Happily Ever After ✨

"Better."

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡

"So! How did I do?"

"Well, you removed some details but that's okay. But then again, how will I trust your mission reports, now?"

"Keithasaurus Rex, the kids don't need to know about the other stuff."

"Why not?"

"...Are we on the same page, Keith?"

"Shouldn't kids these days know about the birds and the bees at a young age anyway?"

"I am NOT telling CHILDREN that we did the hanky panky in the same day?!"

"Why not? It was nice."

"…"

"What?"

"Ugh, nevermind. They'll read this anyway."

"Read what?"

"Abupbupbup! Story's over. We're moving along now, bye guys!"

ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━ ⌖ ⁠♡