#embarrassing flirty klance ft. keith calling lance bluebell bc i’m obsessed with that now

[autisticlancemcclain]

The loud creaking noise coming from the walls is worrying, but the wince and muttered “oh, no” by the planet’s official is even worse.

“What’s wrong?” Keith asks warily.

“Oh, nothing to worry about, paladins!” the official says, plastering a smile on her face. “Please, carry on.”

Lance sighs heavily, trying at the last minute to keep the exasperation out of his tone. “Ma’am, there’s no need to shield us. We’re well equipped for an emergency, and happy to help.”

“Oh, you’re guests, I could never —”

Just then the walls creak again, much louder this time, before a gigantic crack appears, spreading across several meters. The official slumps forward. “We’ve been having some problems with our drainage systems,” she explains apologetically. “We were hopeful that there would be no flooding or catastrophes today, but that does not seem to be the case.”

The second the words are out of her mouth, the crack expands further, and water starts rushing out. The gathered people at the gala all make noises of minor alarm, but they’re all clearly used to the struggle, as no one seems too panicked. Lance takes the moment of confusion to step up onto a recently vacated chair.

“I’m so sorry,” says the official again, looking positively mortified. “This is going to have to cut the celebrations short.”

Keith quirks up one half of his mouth, trying his best to smile reassuringly. He looks awkward but determined. Lance looks away, hiding a fond smile.

“It’s fine,” Keith assures. “Do you need our help escorting everyone out?”

The official shakes her head. “No, everyone’s well-used to this at this point. They’ll file out on their own. I would just worry about getting yourselves out and back to your ship, paladins. It may take a while.”

Lance grimaces, glancing at the massive crowd all trying to file through the minimal exits. “Noted.”

The official hurries away, striding to help some of her elderly people make it through the doors first as the water level starts to rise. Nothing alarming, but enough to be frustrating and even a hazard for anyone who struggles to walk.

“Shame this had to end early,” Keith says, looking like it’s quite the opposite.

Lance snorts. “Real shame, I’m sure. Is that why you look like you could sing a tune?”

Keith’s small smile morphs into a full grin, and he shrugs. “No clue what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm. Sure. Let’s get out of here, you hater.”

Keith starts sloshing forward, wading through the now knee-high water. Lance steps from the chair he was standing on to the table and follows.

“You’re going to fall,” Keith says mildly.

Lance ignores him, concentrating on not tripping over plates and cutlery (proving Keith right would be just as bad as falling entirely into the water).

“Am not. Excuse me for not wanting to wade through dirty pipe water.”

“Priss,” Keith teases.

Lance scowls at him. “I’m wearing my nice shoes! And socks are already the worst things in the world, but wet socks? No. I’d rather surgically remove my feet.”

“Well, get your scalpel ready, ‘cause you’re running out of table.”

Lance stops, realising that he is, in fact, running out of table. He’s got maybe three or so meters left before his path gives way to what was once a massive dance floor and is now a pond, and is also the only way to reach the exit.

“Shit.” He shifts his feet, turning to look at Keith. “Maybe I should just wait here. You know, to make sure everyone else gets out safe. And for the water to get drained.”

Keith scoffs. “Fat chance of that. You’ll be here for days, and we have training tomorrow morning.”

Lance huffs, kicking an abandoned platter of appetizers to the side and sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the white tablecloth. “I don’t want to ruin my fancy clothes,” he says petulantly. “Or get wet socks. Why do horrible things happen to beautiful people? I don’t deserve this.”

Keith laughs. A small one, but one where his smile gets wide, showing his crooked incisors and the lines around his eyes. The look of it makes Lance grin back on reflex. Keith shakes his head, teasing, and then opens his arms. “C’mere, then.”

It takes Lance a moment to clock what Keith’s suggesting, but then he scoffs.

“Absolutely not, Mullet.”

The twinkle in Keith’s eyes is something like mischief. “I dunno what your issue is. If I carry you, you don’t ruin your shoes and your feet stay dry. What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity, I would say. You think I’m cool with you carrying me around like some —” Lance flushes at the mere thought — “some damsel, in front of the entire planet that thinks I’m a cool space hero? No way!”

“Well it’s either your dignity or dry feet, princess,” Keith teases. “You can’t have both.”

Lance narrows his eyes at the bastard. “Do you know how irritating it is when you’re both right and being generous, and thus have the moral high ground?”

Keith laughs again, brighter than before, making Lance’s stomach flutter. He opens his arms, wiggling his fingers enticingly. “You made your choice?”

Lance huffs again. “I guess if you’re offer’s still on the table,” he mutters, staring down at his shoes. “I really like these shoes.”

Without another word, Keith shuffles forward, sliding one arm behind Lance’s back and one under his knees. He lifts Lance easily, not even bracing himself or anything.

“Do I weigh anything to you?” Lance demands, fighting off the redness that threatens to overwhelm his face.

Keith smirks. “Nope. Felt like I was lifting a beanstalk.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Mhm. Keep talking shit and I’ll drop you.”

Lance snaps his mouth shut, because Keith absolutely will. As gentlemanly as he’s being right now, his favourite hobby is driving Lance batty, and Lance knows that for a fact. As soon as he decides that it will be funnier to dunk Lance than to carry him, he will.

“You know, this reminds me of something,” Keith muses as they’re halfway across the flooded dance floor.

Lance hums. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“I’m trying to put my finger on it. Early castle days, some sort of disaster, you cradled in my arms?”

“Oh — fuck off!” Lance exclaims, smacking Keith on the chest. “You drama queen!”

Keith sniggers. “I remember it now.” He smooths his face into an exaggerated smoulder. “‘We make a great team,’” he mocks, digging his fingers into Lance’s side.

“I did not say that,” Lance insists, even though he knows it’s futile. They have this exact argument at least once a week and it goes absolutely nowhere.

“You’re right, you didn’t just ‘say that’. You batted your eyelashes at me and made your eyes all big and brown and said it with the sappiest smile on your face —”

“You are delusional—”

“—and then fainted in my arms after holding my hand and gazing into my eyes. And then you got embarrassed and pretended it didn’t happen.”

“It didn’t! You wanted me to flirt with you so bad you dreamed it up!”

“Sure,” Keith says, shifting Lance in his arms. He pays Lance’s thigh condescendingly. “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You are infuriating.”

“And you are the most frustrating person to ever come from planet Earth.”

They continue to bicker back and forth as Keith walks them through the pond, neither of them stopping to even take a breath. They’re the last ones to clear out, so they take their time. (Well, Keith takes his time, walking as slow as he can to increase Lance’s humiliation, and pretending to drop him every few minutes to hear Lance shriek and clutch his shoulders tightly. Because he is the worst.)

“Finally,” Lance grumbles, as they finally approach the doors. “Anyone tell you that you’re the worst taxi ever?”

“I’m going to dunk you,” Keith says pleasantly.

“Yeah, right. You’ve been saying that for twenty minutes.”

“Twenty-one might be the kicker.”

“Sure, and I bet —”

But Lance never gets to say what he bets, because as soon as they cross the threshold out of the ballroom, where everyone else has filed out, he’s interrupted by cheering. He looks up, confused, to find Hunk and Pidge pointing at him and teasingly whooping and hollering. The rest of the gathered crowd is quickly following suit.

Lance, it seems, is the only one being carried over the water like royalty. Even Allura is walking on her own just fine.

“Got a real gentleman, there, Lance,” Shiro calls, impish grin spreading across his face.

“Fuck off,” Lance snaps, face redder than Keith’s stupid jacket. He hides his face in Keith’s chest, which is shaking with the force of his chuckles.

“Shall I let you down?” he whispers.

“Don’t you dare,” Lance whispers back.

“You’re liking this, then.”

The truth is…yeah. As humiliating as it is being cradled in Keith’s arms (again), something primal and petty in Lance is positively preening at the attention, at the knowledge that he and he alone is special enough to be carried around by Keith Kogane. No one else got the special offer to be spared from the filth of the pipe water. No one else gets to feel Keith’s arms around them. No one else gets to feel the heat of his body so close, hear the beat of his heart. Just Lance.

“You’re annoying and I hate you,” Lance says instead of voicing any of that. “You have a thing for embarrassing me, I swear.”

Keith shrugs. The movement makes Lance’s belly swoop. “A little, actually. It’s hilarious when you get all riled up.”

“Yeah, well, you look better when you’re all mad at me! Take that!” As soon as he says it Lance wishes he could reach back in time and smack the shit out of himself. “Fuck — I didn’t mean — that’s not —”

But the damage is already done — Keith’s already grinning widely, smug and horrible and so, so sexy. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time you piss me off on purpose, Bluebell. Maybe I’ll just shut you up with a kiss.”

Lance is too choked up to say a single thing for the rest of the walk to the castle. When he finally gets to his room — free of Keith’s stupid horrible strong arms, might he add — he shoves his face into his pillow and screams himself hoarse.

Keith is the worst, and Lance wants him more than anyone he’s ever known.

———

based on this video