FULL SUMMARY:

When Lance gets involved in a bar fight (because hey, surely a thing such as legal intergalactic drinking age doesn't apply to a Paladin of Voltron), the reason is a surprising one, especially for Keith. Inspired by this post, it marks the beginnings of several kinds of awakenings for the two of them, but something no one anticipated was that Lance's actions would have far reaching consequences.

Only Lance would manage to walk into a bar occupied by the space mafia and insult their leader.

– O –

A/N: this is my first fic for voltron so I apologise for possible OOC-ness. I promise I'll try my best to get better. Also sorry for any grammar mistakes etc.

"I can't believe you!"

Lance had the decency to look at least a little bit ashamed of himself as Allura began her tirade, long skirts swishing around her ankles as she paced back and forth. Coran stood still behind her, throwing in the occasional nod and noises of agreement while glowering at Lance. Maybe it was the residual adrenaline, but it took all of his self-control not to start giggling at the way Coran's moustache quivered in outrage, each nod renewing the intensity with which it bobbed up and down.

"You are a Paladin, you are Voltron!" Allura was saying, emphasising her little speech with wild hand gestures. Beneath her tanned skin, her face looked red. She had to be furious.

"No shit, Sherlock." Pidge muttered from somewhere behind Lance, and he jumped. Had he just said that out loud? Pidge quirked an eyebrow at him as he glanced over at her, mouth slightly agape. He quickly turned back to the front only to see Coran puffing up his chest in outrage at his inattention, The Mighty Moustache quivering in righteous anger. Laughter tickled its way up Lance's throat.

"Do you have any idea how much you have disgraced Voltron's name?" Allura continued, ignoring the little exchange, barely coming to a stop in front of him before she kept talking, each word punctuated by Coran nodding. The moustache was reaching never before breeched moustache-jumping speed, the span of time between reaching its highest and lowest points less than a tick. Lance pressed his lips together in a thin line in a last ditch effort of keeping his laughter in check. He nearly winced at the pain bursting forth from the cut in his lower lip, having forgotten all about it.

"Uh…a lot…?" he managed to press out, a small giggle escaping him at the end despite all of his best efforts. Maybe it had more to do with some of that weird space punch he'd had earlier, rather than adrenaline?

There was a number of small groans behind him, the rest of team Voltron having been more or less forced to watch as Lance was being disciplined. Silence ensued as Allura stopped mid-sentence, fixing him with a steely glare that made any trace of humour in his body disappear. Part of Lance wanted to cut the suddenly palpable tension in the air with one of his suave pick up lines, but another part told him that that course of action would probably get him his balls cut off. And, like any healthy teenage boy, or everyone possessing male anatomy as far as he knew, Lance was rather fond of them, thank you very much.

He wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Princess," Shiro cut in, just as Allura looked like she was going to do something far worse than castrate Lance on the spot – brave man, that Shiro, Lance thought admiringly – "I understand your anger, and let me assure you," here, Shiro shot him a stern glance, "Lance will suffer the necessary consequences, but no harm – alright, not much – has come of it. No charges are being pressed and nothing has been damaged."

Allura sighed, visibly placated enough for her skin to lose its red undertone, but Lance scoffed underneath his breath.

"If anyone should be pressing charges it should be me." he muttered, then flinched at the multiple glares aimed in his direction.

"Dude, shut up!" Hunk hissed. Lance whirled around, suddenly pissed off all over again.

"You don't know what happened, you weren't there! You would have –"

"Not become involved in a bar brawl for no reason." Shiro cut him off, grabbing Lance by the arm. Lance glared at him, attempting to get his arm back, but Shiro's grip was too strong. Shiro's gaze was unwavering, jaw set, not breaking eye contact until Lance finally had to blink and look away.

"…I trust you, Shiro." Allura spoke up again, watching their little stare off with narrowed eyes. Her arms were crossed over her chest, face pulled into a visibly displeased expression. "Make sure he learns his lesson. Meanwhile, " and now she addressed all of them although Lance had the distinct impression she was talking to him, "the healing pods are still malfunctioning, most likely because of some residual Galra energy. We are switching them off until we can flush all of it out completely, so I suggest none of you get hurt in the meantime. Obviously, it is a bit late for Lance, but I hope you can all learn from his example."

With that, she swept out the room, taking the thick atmosphere with her. Shiro finally let go of Lance, and he breathed in, rubbing his arm. He coughed, breaking the disapproving silence Allura had left behind.

"Well, I sure hope you didn't leave any bruises, I'm delicate, y'know? Gotta keep my looks impeccable for the ladies, don't want to deprive them of eye candy such as myself –"

Shiro rolled his eyes.

"I'd worry more about your face, Casanova." Pidge interrupted Lance unceremoniously, passing him by. She poked him right in the bruising around his left eye, prompting him to hiss in pain and bat her hand away. "Oooh, that looks uuugly."

"Shut up, Pidge." Lance grudgingly told her back as she disappeared out of the hall, glowering at the casual wave she threw over her shoulder. She was closely followed by Keith whose indecipherable stare lingered on him just a moment too long to appear casual. Lance suddenly felt cold, naked.

Did Keith know, that it had been about him? That technically, that jerk was just as much responsible for the brawl as Lance was? Goddammit, why did Lance have to get involved anyway? It hadn't been any of his business, hell, he should have just laughed with them, so why had he felt angry and protective of that unfashionable mullethead?

Hunk came up to his side, clearing his throat.

"Just one question." he interrupted Lance's impending existential crisis, "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Keith, you fucking – " Lance ground out, ignoring Hunk as he shot a murderous look at the door Keith had gone through.

"Language." Shiro calmly stopped him in his tracks, landing an equal parts assuring and warning hand on his shoulder. It felt heavy. "Go get some sleep, we'll work on proper 'punishment' tomorrow."

The weight of Shiro's hand disappeared as he left the two of them, Hunk scrutinising Lance from the side with undisguised worry.

"What gives? It was just a stupid fight at a bar, wasn't it?" Hunk tried again, nudging Lance lightly with his elbow. Lance disguised his wince as a cough, ignoring the throbbing from his side. Hunk repeated, more insistently this time, "What were you thinking?"

What was I thinking?

Keith.

Lance swallowed, panic working its way back into his chest and into a lump forming in his throat.

"Nothing."

– O –

Lance fell onto his bed, clothes and all, and groaned. It was a rather pathetic sound but he couldn't quite bring himself to care. Then he groaned again, this time in pain, because he somehow kept forgetting he'd gotten himself injured and beaten up for that jerk, and really, the least he could have done was not to look so accusing when Lance had been chewed out by the princess –

There was a knock on the door, momentarily halting his train of thought. Lance lifted his face from where it had been squashed into his pillow, squinting at the door.

"…Who is it?"

Granted, there was a very small selection of possible candidates to choose from, but he wasn't particularly keen on seeing anyone at the moment, not when his thoughts were all over the place, and when at least half out of everyone here was pissed at him.

"Open up." came the reply, predictably without an actual introduction. To Lance's utter dismay and self-disgust, he recognised the voice at once. Admittedly, it wasn't particularly the instant recognition which surprised him – oh no, Lance had memorised the sound of Keith's voice embarrassingly fast – but the accompanying storm of emotions, led by a strange mixture of relief and anger.

"Go away!"

Lance scrambled into a seated position, clutching the pillow to himself, even as Keith completely ignored his more or less shrieked order and let himself in. Lance made an indignant sound, matched by an equally indignant expression as he glared up at Keith coming closer until he stood right in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" Lance asked, voice annoyingly scratchy. He had not been crying, dammit. Keith said nothing, merely raising an eyebrow as he lifted a hand. Lance dumbly stared at what he was holding.

A first aid kit.

"Why do you have that?"

Lance could feel the mattress dip under Keith's weight as he sat across from him, unhurriedly unpacking the little box. Lance's eyebrow twitched at his continued silence, warily watching as Keith took out a bunch of bandages, band aids, cotton balls and a small, opaque bottle. He leaned back, instantly suspicious, as Keith took one cotton ball, dipped it into whatever was in the bottle, and neared his face with it. Keith sighed.

"It's just disinfectant."

Lance eyed the cotton ball.

"How do I know you're not lying? Maybe you're trying to poison me."

"If I wanted to poison you, I wouldn't be putting it on your face but pour it down your throat." Keith tried to reason, voice strained with obvious effort at attempting to sound calming.

"Maybe you're just trying to distract me – oh my god!" Lance gasped, clutching at his chest with wide eyes and pointing a finger at Keith, "That's what this is, isn't it, you're pretending to be nice so you can slowly gain my trust and when I've finally let my guard down – never gonna happen, by the way, I'm ever vigilant, okay, my reflexes are as fast as the speed of light – ow, fuck!" Lance yelped, falling over backwards as Keith thrust the cotton ball at his face. It made contact with a cut on his temple, burning like the deepest pits of hell.

"Will you shut up, you're such a baby!" Keith hissed, straddling Lance to keep him from moving away any more. The cotton ball was pressed insistently into the cut, the pain intensifying for a few seconds before fading into nothing. Lance relaxed underneath Keith for just a moment before tensing up again at realising what position they were in. He blanched.

"Get off of me!" Lance bucked, trying to throw Keith off. Keith jumped off his lap immediately, tops of his cheeks dusted a light pink even as he threw him an unimpressed look.

"If you'd just let me help you, I wouldn't have to sit on you to keep you still." Keith lifted the offensive cotton ball – deceivingly soft and fluffy for something that felt like a mini fireball – in one hand and the disinfectant – if that was what it really was – in the other. He cocked an eyebrow challengingly. "So, what will it be?"

Lance held his stare for a few seconds before looking away, a silent permission for Keith to come closer. Keith wasted no time, continuing with 'helping' him. Speaking of which –

"Why are you doing this?"

Keith's movements stilled momentarily before continuing as if nothing had happened.

"You're hurt. And the healing pods aren't working." he replied, as if that was a completely normal thing to say. Hmm. Maybe it was, in general, but it also wasn't – not for them, anyway. Lance snorted, letting it pass. For now.

"Right. Because Allura would really let me near one after that." he scoffed, stopping mid-wince when Keith gave him another one of those don't-be-such-a-sissy-looks. The room lapsed into silence as Keith got to the split in Lance's lip, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

It wasn't exactly a comfortable place to be, not when Lance was forced to realise how close Keith was, how careful and surprisingly gentle his hands were as he treated the countless cuts Lance hadn't even been aware of until now, littering his skin.

Keith was warm, his hands rough from calluses, witness to his hard work and training. There was a small grove between his eyebrows, drawn together in concentration, dark eyelashes long and in stark contrast to the pale colour of his face. Warm puffs of air brushed Lance's mouth from how close Keith was as he breathed in and out, and Lance was mesmerised because Keith –

Well, Keith was, for lack of better term, beautiful. Purely and simply, beautiful.

Was he even aware of how close he was, that it would really only take a dip of Lance's head to kiss him?

Before Lance could even comprehend that thought, much less start freaking out over where it had come from, Keith moved away. It was only when disappointment was Lance's first reaction to the added distance between them, that he began to question whether that brawl had possibly damaged his brain too.

"So, want to tell me why exactly you felt the need to start trouble during our first bit of peace since all of this started?" Keith's question invaded his thoughts, tone measured but edged with genuine curiosity. Lance instinctively dropped his gaze to the ground, strangely embarrassed but also defiantly proud of what he'd done. He cleared his throat, gathering himself, before he looked up with a flirty smirk. It didn't feel quite as solid or right as it usually did. Maybe because of the lip injury.

"Why do you think? The ladies couldn't keep their hands off me, how was I supposed to know their boyfriends were there?" Lance shrugged, tone casual. Keith didn't even crack a smile as he began to pack his medical supplies away.

The thing about injuries though, is that they still hurt even when you forget about them. So when Lance suddenly moved, a sharp pain in his side making him grimace, one hand came up to cover it in reflex. He tried to hide the instinctive movement but Keith had already spotted it, grabbing Lance's wrist in one hand and the hem of his shirt in his other. Lance suddenly couldn't breathe.

"H-hey! What – " he sputtered, attempting to wind himself out of Keith's grip, only to yelp when cold air met his skin as his shirt was yanked upward. Keith stared at Lance's ribcage, horror clear on his face. Lance stilled, wincing. "Is it that bad?"

Lance regretted asking almost immediately, Keith's eyes slowly rising to meet his. Their depths were burning with an emotion Lance was too familiar with, especially after tonight. But that was –

"How did you not feel this?" Keith asked, voice deadly calm, as he finally dropped Lance's wrist and gently traced the mottled skin with his finger. Lance suppressed a shiver, chancing a look at what had shocked Keith so. And stared.

"Oh wow."

It hadn't just felt like his whole ribcage was hurt, it probably was. Spanning from just below his armpit down to below his waist, a huge, purplish-black bruise edged with blue and green painted Lance's side a painful, and very colourful, rainbow. Lance swallowed, remembering back to the fight. His fist clenched by his side.

"I must've been even more pissed off than I thought…" he absentmindedly said, insults and derogatory words echoing in his head. All he could really remember about it was how furious he had been, his memory nothing but a red-hot, hazy blur.

Keith pressed against the bruise experimentally, earning a loud curse from Lance as he scooted away from him. Keith looked up at him questioningly, hand still raised.

"Why were you angry? Wouldn't all those boyfriends have more of a right to that than you?"

Lance's eyes widened as he realised his mistake. He scrambled off the bed, clearing his throat as he tugged at his shirt and studiously avoided looking at Keith.

"Y-yeah, but see, I got pissed because they went after my face. It's my best asset, c'mon, you know how –" he tried to save some of his dignity. Keith stood too, eyes flinty and mouth drawn into a disbelieving frown.

"Pissed enough not to feel a couple of cracked ribs?" he asked, tone dripping with sarcasm as he crossed his arms. His fingers tapped impatiently. "What happened, Lance? We all know you're not the smartest or best at self-control, but to get in a fight that bad over something like that?"

You're a Paladin, you're Voltron!

Lance swallowed, not even insulted as his panic returned with vengeance. Hadn't the whole reason for that fight been in the name of Voltron? In the name of being a Paladin, being a good team mate who defended another team mate?

"I – yeah, okay. You're right." Lance slumped, suddenly dead-tired. "That's – not what happened."

Keith stayed quiet, waiting. Part of Lance was surprised he wasn't shaking the story out of him; Keith wasn't exactly known for being patient. Maybe he could just talk his way around this – one look at his face assured Lance though that no, Keith wasn't going to listen to any more bullshit today. Lance sighed.

"Look, let's just say – there were some people there, okay? Talking about Voltron, you know, the usual – " at first, Lance had been flattered since it seemed like Voltron's fame was spreading but that had quickly changed – " but they just kinda – started bashing on us. Talking shit about everyone."

"You should've ignored them." Keith interjected, tone exasperated. Lance flinched.

"Yeah. I was going to. But – " here, he halted again, pride keeping him from continuing. Keith, quick as lighting, jabbed a finger at Keith's bruised side, earning a pained shout and glare. "Jeez, what the hell, stop – I'll tell you, okay? Just, don't do that."

It still took Lance a good few deep breaths and at least 10 seconds of gathering his composure before he finally bit the bullet.

"I was going to walk away, alright? But then they started going on about the Red Lion, about you, and I – I just lost it." Lance lowered his eyes, vaguely ashamed, even as his voice barely wavered. "But I'm – I'm not sorry."

There. It was out. Lance braced himself for laughter but it never came. He opened his eyes by a slit, chancing a glance.

Keith looked – stunned. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open. Somehow, for the first time since meeting him, Lance had managed to completely catch him off guard. That was nearly enough to put Lance back into a good mood again. He could feel a genuine smirk tug at his mouth.

"Weren't expecting that, hmm? Me, the gallant knight, defending your honour –"

Keith punched him in the shoulder, hard enough to hurt and freeze Lance's smirk, but not enough so he didn't notice the red slowly creeping up Keith's neck and darkening the tips of his ears.

"I can fight my own battles." Keith's voice was stable but Lance thought he could hear a tiny tremor, a crack in his composure. Lance's smirk widened.

"Like you're not flattered –"

"Shut up." Keith's face was definitely red now, even as he tried to turn away from Lance as fast as he could. "Just – don't move. I'm coming back with some cremes for your bruising."

The door shut behind him before Lance could reply, but he suddenly felt like he was on an emotional high, Allura's lecture as good as forgotten.

That could have gone a lot worse than he thought.