Lance never meant for it to go this far. In fact, after their first night together, an honest drunken accident followed by one hell of a hungover, he was convinced Keith wouldn't want anything to do with him and either ignore him or punch him on sight. He just had that brooding no-strings-attached look about him that screamed 'perfect for one night stands, and one night stands only'. Six months later and more hook ups than Lance could count he wasn't so sure where they stood any more, nor whether he wanted to find out.

The truth was, Lance was a coward. Not that he'd ever say that out loud, but deep down he knew it was true. He was a real anxious wreck, always overreacting and overthinking the littlest bits of trouble coming his way. It was even worse when he was in school, his high school years a blur of nervous agony that he was painstakingly learning to keep under control, or rather mask with believable bravado and gushing optimism, all the while wishing he could scream his head off in frustration.

His first year of college was no better, what with his student loan and the responsibility not to fuck up everything his family believed he could and would achieve in here. What was supposed to be a new, better, adult life far from home and on his own felt like jumping from a familiar frying pan into a hostile raging fire.

Then Lance discovered the wonders of being wasted.

Of course he tried liquor before college, but frat parties and random get-togethers with groupmates, always spiced up by a couple packages of beer and a bottle of something stronger, opened a whole new world of experience for him. Gone was the awkward jokester Lance who stumbled in his pick up lines and still kicked himself for it two days later, gone was the stressed out Lance who studied till three in the morning and was on the verge of tearing his hair out when he still couldn't recite the three dozen formulas he absolutely needed for the next day's exam.

Getting drunk gave him the freedom of mind he so desperately needed, it liberated him and gave him a taste of a carefree life where he could just forget about all his real problems.

It was addicting.

By the time he realised just to what an extent he was nearly failing three classes and looked like a bus ran him over on a daily basis.

It was his roommate Hunk who pulled him out of it, quite literally slapping sense into his stupid head one night when he returned so drunk he passed out on the floor, vomited all over himself, choked on his puke and almost died. Hunk helped him, cleaned his mess and then gave him a long heartfelt lecture that Lance normally would've brushed off, but not that day.

That day he broke down in front of the first friend he made at this place. And honestly, bless the world for Hunk.

Since then Lance got a better grip on himself, satisfactory finished his first year and even took up swimming again, something he had had to ditch in high school to participate in as many science fairs and workshops as he could to add them to his application letters. It all paid off in the long run but he realised how much he missed being in water (however chlorinated it may be) when he went to the pool for the first time in almost two years. Nothing could compare to the ocean, true, but he was glad with what he had at hand.

Also, there he met Allura. The breathtaking athletic goddess who came straight out of Lance's wildest dreams and exceeded them tenfold. Which was probably why he wasn't in a hurry to introduce himself and shoot himself in the foot the moment he opened his mouth.

Ironically, he approached her at a frat party, after he already had a couple of drinks, because a boy still had to relax sometimes okay, and he was too surprised to meet her at a place like that to keep it to himself (later he found out she attended the same college but was two years senior). He made a major ass out of himself in front of her. Oh, and a room of twenty something people. The next day he couldn't remember what exactly he had told her but it must've been epically awful, he heard people giggle and whisper behind his back in the halls.

What they didn't know though, was that the very same day, upon waking up with a colossal headache, Lance found himself in bed with Keith.

Now, he and Keith had technically met, even exchanged some meaningless phrases. One time they went as far as having a little banter in the physics class when the prof called for an open discussion. So, yeah, Lance knew Keith.

He knew how damn perfect he was, with his gorgeous resting bitch face that probably never had more product applied to it than simple soap (seriously, fuck him and his perfect skin), with his stupid thick flowing hair (like, for crying out loud, who even wore mulets these days, and managed to pull them off), with his immaculate grades and his infuriating nonchalance about everything.

It was like Keith had never in his entire life cried in the shower, at the crack ass of dawn and without having gone to bed, because he was obsessively thinking about the grade he'd get for the term paper he had handed in on the day of deadline and then badmouthed the prof that would be grading them, in a particularly loud voice, with his back turned to the staff room, just when the said prof was leaving for lunch.

So what if Lance was maybe, the tiniest bit jealous of Keith. It was hard not to be, alright, and anybody who would beg to differ was a shameless liar. But before that night Lance had no idea about his sexual preferences.

Well, he may have been a little stereotypical and assumed Keith was into girls, which fuelled his jealousy even more because Lance had had no luck with them so far.

Not for the lack of trying, mind you, he even had sex (once, and it was super awkward and kinda bad but whatever, it still counted). He kept convincing himself that it was just that he hadn't met the right girl yet, and how could he when hot bad boys of the likes of Keith were all over the place.

To say Lance was freaked to see Keith that fateful morning crammed beside him on a narrow bed, naked and with one arm wrapped loosely around his torso, well, that would be an understatement of the century.

Naturally, he fled before Keith woke up.

He was seriously contemplating transferring to another college by the end of the day, and considering flying off to Cuba to live with his grandparents on a minimum wage by the middle of the night as he was tossing and turning in bed. He also avoided Keith like his life depended on it the following two days (which wasn't difficult, they only had two lectures together).

Somehow, the confrontation he was dreading never came. Nor did the cold shoulder Lance resigned himself to as more time passed and Keith didn't come to beat the shit out of him.

What happened was that when they finally crossed paths Keith acted like everything was okay. More than that, he came up to Lance first and actually said hi to him, giving him that stupid slow half-smirk half-smile Lance wished he didn't find so becoming on him. But even aside from that, Keith's whole demeanour around him gradually became warmer, imperceptibly so at first, but more and more obvious as they carried on with their weird kind of friendship.

That was at the beginning of his third year, and looking back at it halfway into the second semester Lance had no idea how to get himself out of the hole he had dug out for himself. The supposedly one night stand with Keith turned into two, then into three, then five, and at some point Lance lost count. It all went completely out of control, Lance didn't know what to do, and least of all how to talk to Keith about it.

Now, contrary to what some may think, Lance wasn't stupid, or oblivious, he saw clearly where it was going. He simply didn't know how to handle it. Just imagining that Keith could like him, and not solely as a pretty fuck buddy, sent Lance into a nervous fit.

Of course, Keith liked him. Only not the real him with all his annoying insecurities, he liked the giggly lighthearted Lance who was desperate to get it on. So much so that he jumped at the opportunity every time it presented itself in the form of strong hands around his waist and a deep soft voice in his ear that promised pleasure.

Lance was disgusted with himself, and hated that he couldn't stop.

Couldn't stop clinging to Keith after he had too much to drink (and anything past two cups was too much for him really), couldn't stop asking for more when they were alone, couldn't stop wanting everything that Keith had to offer and then some. And the worst part was that he couldn't stop acting like a total douche around Keith on the next day when he sobered up.

It felt like he was overstepping some unspoken boundaries, like he was using Keith and then hurting him with his antics each time more and more. There would definitely come the day when Keith would get fed up and end it, and that was what Lance dreaded most.

And yet he couldn't get over his anxious thinking and talk to him like a normal person who, maybe, wanted a real relationship.

Because what if Keith didn't? And if he did, with his luck, Lance would find a thousand and one ways to ruin it.

—

Lance's resolve to stay clear of booze and parties (and consequently hooking up with Keith) was embarrassingly short-termed, and on a Friday night he found himself at one of those bars that started celebrating the upcoming holiday a week prior to the actual holiday.

This time it was St Valentine's, with all the extra-sweet and extra-pink cocktails that had the names so tacky and overly excessive everybody who wasn't out to impress their dates just jotted their fingers into the bar menus plastered to the countertops. At this point Lance had had two, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to read anything longer than two word combinations if he tried.

That didn't stop him from trying out his new pick-up lines on people in the vicinity.

"Heeey, pretty ladies, do you have names or can I call you mine?" he shouted over the music at the newly arrived girls, who promptly turned their backs on him and called the bartender. Lance took a swing from his tall glass, gulping down the hot shame and uneasiness, and looked around.

The night was not in full swing yet but definitely getting there as more people were pouring into the club, getting the thrill of the first buzz and rocking out on the dance floor. Perhaps it was time for Lance to do the same.

He finished his cocktail, hopped off the high barstool and headed into the swirling crowd, coloured brightly by the blinking lights. The low bass pulsed through his body, making his blood flow faster and his head pleasantly light. Soon he was lost in the mass of moving bodies and swayed mindlessly to the loud beat. And yet his gaze wandered over unfamiliar faces, looking for a set of very particular features.

Every time Lance and Keith ended up at the same bar he kept telling himself that it was all pure coincidence. Nevermind that when they saw each other earlier in the day he casually dropped a line or two about how he 'wouldn't mind checking that new hip place out', or wondered 'how many freaky cocktails they could come up with for the occasion', whatever the occasion was.

Keith hardly ever commented on such outbursts, but later Lance always found himself in his company, either nursing a plain rum-and-coke or something so bitter Lance couldn't stand the smell of it. And two or three drinks and a couple of trips to the dance floor later Keith's company became much more pleasant since it involved his strong muscular arms around Lance's waist.

In fact, right now Lance would love to skip all the dancing around, figurative and literal, and have Keith up close and personal with him right away. The mullet just needed to arrive already, like seriously, what was taking him so long?

Lance started considering returning to the bar for a bit when someone pulled on his hand, making him spin around and crash into a leather-covered chest.

"What the-!" he yelled indignantly and rose his hand for a slap, but then caught mirth in the dark eyes laughing at him and a devious curve of smirking lips. "Oh hey, Keith!" his hand fell onto the leather collar of Keith's biker jacket. "When'd you get here? 't mus' be awfully hot in this," he grasped the metal tab and pulled as he spoke, revealing a bright red shirt underneath. Without thinking he ran his hands over the soft material and leaned in, still swaying his hips to the music and encouraging Keith to do the same.

"You didn't waste time here, I see," Keith chuckled, speaking right into his ear, and stepped closer so that their thighs brushed every now and again.

"Whaaat, I only had one cup, no wait, mug, no! Whad'you call it, a long shot? Of something," he giggled, unbothered by his running mouth. Keith was smirking so he must be funny enough.

"Wanna get another?" the music picked up louder than before and Keith had to raise his voice as well. Lance took the challenge and shouted, throwing his head back, "Yeaaah!"

The next hour or so went in a blur. Lance had two more cocktails and then they both shared a round of shots (short shots this time). The second trip to the dance floor afterwards quickly turned into a jumping session and all too soon Lance felt Keith guiding him towards the exit.

He didn't protest, even though he had to drag his feet a little. But on the inside he was soaring, and only Keith's firm grip was keeping him from flying away. It was the pleasantest sensation in the world. Lance wished he would never let go.

He even told him so at some point. Or something close enough in sense. Whatever he said made Keith shiver (or was it the cool winter air), and the next thing he knew they were kissing in the alleyway right outside the bar.

Keith's mouth was scorching against his, his hands eager and a little frantic as he ran them down Lance's sides, hiking up his shirt and pulling at his belt. Lance encouraged him, letting out small embarrassing whimpers that got drowned in between their lips. Then Keith moved to his neck and Lance had to grip his shoulders tighter and hold for dear life, because when a hot mouth latched hungrily onto his skin and a nimble hand dipped past his waistband his legs buckled and just about gave out.

"Ohh, K-Keith, you naughty-," he gasped and swallowed down a moan. Keith gripped him hard and started pumping without warning.

"Stop talking," he breathed into Lance's ear, making him tremble in his hold, "or do you wanna get caught?"

Maybe it was the teasing tone that did it for Lance, or the spike of anxiety at the idea mixed with adrenaline that followed it, but he felt a rush of arousal so strong he almost came then and there were it not for Keith's fingers circling him at the base.

"Holy shit," Keith pulled back to look at him in wonder, then a devious smirk stretched his lips and he chuckled low in his throat. "You'd love that, wouldn't you?"

"N-no, I-," Lance's head was in a haze but the tight feeling in his chest wouldn't go away, probably because of the release that he'd just been denied, or the mention of being found out in such a compromising position. He looked at Keith with a pitiful expression, suddenly overcome with the need to apologise, even if he wasn't sure for what exactly. "I didn't mean to, I only wanted to-," what did he want again? He lost his train of thought.

"Shh, it's okay, I've got you," Keith pulled him into a warm hug and did a quick job of straightening his clothes for him. "Let's head back, alright?" he said, already leading him out of the alley.

To Lance it sounded like Keith was done with him for the evening and decided to dump his drunk ass at the nearest bus stop. So he clung to him stubbornly the whole way, determined not to let him go. He even put his arm around Keith's waist in a possessive manner every time he saw someone passing them by, so that they wouldn't dare to steal him, and sneaked small kisses at Keith's face whenever he got the chance. Sure, those were wet and clumsy, but they still counted. Had to, since Keith never pushed him away.

Why was he doing it? What right did he have to monopolise Keith like that? And why was Keith putting up with it for so long? Those were questions for the future sober Lance.

The trip to their dorms was vague in Lance's memory, his attention was mostly on Keith the whole time, but when they got there he pulled him along to his room. Hunk was away for the weekend, that much he remembered thankfully.

Once they entered, Keith was again all over him, and Lance was so relieved he laughed a little.

"What's so funny, lover boy?" Keith teased him, biting his earlobe in a playful manner.

"Nothin'," Lance pulled him closer, revelling in his heat, the taste of bitter rum that still lingered on his tongue, the scent of his shower gel mixed with sweat and smoke from the bar, the feel of his rough leather jacket under his fingers and his coarse dark hair that Lance could grab and pull. And Keith would let him. Lance knew he would.

"What're you waiting for?" Keith asked suddenly and Lance started wondering if he said what was running through his head out loud, then gave up on it and just pushed Keith into the bedroom, yanking at his clothes and his own to get undressed as fast as possible.

"Want you naked, now, please, baby, please," he mumbled somewhat feverishly into Keith's shoulder that he started kissing at some point after getting rid of his jacket and shirt.

"I'd never say no to you, you hear me, never," came Keith's earnest reply, and Lance nodded along, not quite registering the desperate note in his voice but getting the idea nonetheless. For the moment that was all he needed to hear.

Not long after they were on the bed, skin to skin, grinding shamelessly against each other. It was perfect, they were perfect together, Lance wished this sweet torture would never end, that it would forever keep him on the edge where all his worries seemed far away and he was just enjoying Keith's wonderful presence. He brought him so much pleasure.

He was the only one who brought Lance so much pleasure.

"I can give you so much more," Keith's voice was whispering into his ear, tapping into his deepest most shameful desires. It was like he was reading his mind. And Lance was weak, so weak.

"I wanna be inside you, can I?" he asked timidly, caching Keith's eyes and looking into them longingly.

He loved it every time Keith took him, loved the sensation of being stuffed so full it hurt, but when he got to have Keith and to give the very last bit of himself in return, then Lance felt truly complete.

"Okay," Keith said, watching him closely and getting up. "Give me a couple of minutes," he planted a small kiss on Lance's lips before heading to the bathroom. When he was at the door, he turned and added with a wink, "Get yourself busy in the meantime, will you? I want you nice and ready when I'm back."

Lance nodded happily and gripped his length in a loose fist. As his hand started moving his eyes slid shut and his mind began wandering.

He wanted to be good for Keith. Wanted to get him off. To be enough, at least for someone. He wanted it so bad. So bad it almost hurt.

"Hey, use some of this," Keith suddenly spoke from the side and Lance startled a little, opening his eyes and seeing a bottle of lube in Keith's outstretched hand.

"When did ya get back?" Lance blinked up at him, marvelling at Keith's sharp cheekbones, and his broad firm shoulders, and his semi-hard cock hanging heavily between his legs. Very nice legs.

"Alright, I'll do it," Keith shook his head and climbed into bed next to Lance. "Just lie back and relax," he smiled and straddled his hips. Lance was glad to oblige.

He loved it when Keith took control.

When he kissed him so deep and long, caressing his chest, his stomach. When he took him in his hand and stroked. So damn good.

"Keith," he whimpered into Keith's mouth, voice pitched high.

"Yeah?" Keith switched to light pecks on the corner of his mouth, moving across his jaw and down to the spot behind his ear. Lance was melting underneath him. "Tell me what you want," he crooned, biting the skin lightly. His hand never stopped moving, giving attention to every inch, then fondling his sack and down below.

"Want you," Lance was losing track of time, dissolving in concentrated pleasure. "I want you so bad, please," he felt powerless, immobilised, free of any troubles. "Please, you're everything I want," he was enjoying every second of it.

Lance missed the moment Keith slipped a condom on him, and how quickly he lubed him up. So when Keith gripped his latex-covered cock and pressed it to his entrance, already wet and welcomingly loose, Lance chocked on air.

"It's okay, breathe," Keith cupped his face with his clean hand, leaned down and kissed him briefly before pushing Lance's cock inside, inch by inch. "I'll go slow, alright?"

Lance was too far gone for words and nodded jerkily in agreement. Keith was squeezing him so hard, it was mind-blowing, and the way he was watching him as he sank lower, like Lance was the centre of the universe. Well, he certainly felt like it under Keith's dark gaze.

"You're amazing," he breathed out when Keith took him in to the hilt. Keith smirked down at him.

"You deserve only the best," he said it lightheartedly, but his eyes still held that intensity Lance couldn't understand.

Then Keith started moving, and Lance lost himself again. He let Keith set the tempo, happy to take anything he was ready to give. Soon his hips started meeting Keith's in every thrust, and he couldn't keep his hands still. He needed to touch Keith, needed him as close as possible, because he was never close enough, and Lance felt that soon he would just slip away completely. He didn't want that, wouldn't handle it if Keith left him, if he broke this off with him. If Keith did that, Lance would-

Strong arms met Lance halfway, wrapping around him in a tight embrace.

"Lance, hey, Lance, come on, what's wrong," he spoke hurriedly, worry clear in his voice, and tried to get a good look at Lance's face. "Was it too much? Hey, it's okay," he started petting his hair, and brushed his fingers against Lance's cheeks, rubbing the wetness away. "Lance, please, talk to me."

Lance opened his mouth to say something, anything, to get things back to how they were just moments before, but all that came out was a sob. Then another one.

And then Lance was openly crying with Keith in his lap. He didn't push away when Lance hugged him closer, and Lance didn't protest when he carefully manoeuvred them into a more comfortable position on the bed that didn't involve Lance's softened cock wedged uncomfortably inside him.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Lance kept babbling as Keith stroked his back and held him close. "I'm such a dick to you all the time, and y-you-," talking was hard with the hiccups constricting his throat, but he needed to say this. He couldn't keep ignoring it any longer or he would go mad. "You're perfect, and I don't deserve you."

"That's not true," Keith said softly but firmly, but Lance didn't believe he understood.

"I-I know it's not fair to you, I can't-," this part was what Lance had been dreading ever since he first slept with Keith, but it had to be done. Now or never. "I can't keep doing it to-,"

"Lance, stop," Keith's hold on him tightened. "I like you, alright? A lot. And I think we could make this work, if you gave me a chance," he looked like he was debating jumping off a cliff then, and Lance felt another pang of guilt. "Would you?"

"Keith, I-"

"You don't need to answer right away, but please-"

"I'm no good for you!" Lance struggled to break free and Keith let him. He looked absolutely heartbroken. Lance couldn't take it. "Don't you see, all I do is screw you over with this- this bullshit relationship we've got going, and seriously, how can you even stand me? Cause I can't any more," he curled in on himself, scared to face Keith's judging look, to hear him agree with him.

"You don't need to be perfect for people to like you," Keith leaned into him, pressing his forehead against his shoulder. "Nobody's perfect," he said, wrapping one arm around Lance's waist, sharing his warmth. "But I'll have you despite all your flaws," Lance lifted his head and turned to look at him. His expression was open and hopeful. "Will you have me?"

Lance rubbed at his eyes, sniffed and whispered, "Yes."

Keith pulled him closer and kissed him chastely on the lips.

They cleaned up and cuddled on the bed for the rest of the evening, falling asleep in each other's arms.

When the next morning Lance woke up next to Keith, the familiar urge to get away tugged at his insides. But as he lay there, remembering everything that happened the previous night, he realised what a fool he was for running from his feelings all this time.

Was he terrified at the prospect of finally having Keith as his official boyfriend? Definitely. Was he prepared for a real relationship? Hardly. But was he willing to try for Keith's sake? Absolutely.

Lance settled comfortably against the warm relaxed body beside him, and waited for Keith to open his eyes.

This day they would be starting together.