Tuesday 14th of March 2017
[11:56] Lance
work hard babe 3
[11:59] Shiro
Thanks, Lance :) I'm trying.
Shiro flips the phone in his hand distractedly. Over two hours later and Lance hasn't replied, which is unusual, but also understandable. He's being respectful of Shiro's need to get this work done but Shiro is itching with the need to talk to him. It's ridiculous. He's being ridiculous. It's a tribute to his self-discipline and work ethic that he's managed to get any work done over the past few days.
Stretching out his neck and shoulders, Shiro glances around The Grind. It's spring break so there aren't as many students with their books and laptops out like Shiro. There are still mostly students here, but they're meeting up with friends and having lunch and coffee.
With a heavy sigh, Shiro rubs his eyes under his reading glasses and glances back down at his laptop, endeavouring to refocus on the screen and the millionth essay he's had to read. He's sitting at his usual table, a two seater, in front of the café window. It's far enough out of the way that he doesn't get distracted, his back is also turned on the room, just in case.
Suddenly there is a person hovering by his table. Which is odd because Sal brought him his coffee only ten minutes ago.
"Is this seat taken?" they ask, and before even waiting for a response – which is a hard 'go away' – they're sidling into the seat across from him.
Shiro frowns and feels a frustrated growl building in the back of his throat. He's prepared a whole speech, filled with forced politeness, when he glances up and all words and thoughts disappear completely from his mouth and throat and brain. Because sitting there, smiling at him, is Lance.
"Hey, big guy. Imagine seeing you here," Lance says casually, smirking, sipping from a takeaway coffee cup and looking practically angelic, glowing with the light streaming through the window.
Shiro opens his mouth to speak but no words come out. He's forgotten how to words. Far too distracted for words.
Lance is gorgeous, unreasonably and impossibly gorgeous. His pictures didn't do him justice because wow… Lance's skin looks warm and smooth and Shiro has to curl his hand into a fist to physically stop himself from reaching over to feel it. His brown hair is a perfectly styled mess and his beautiful blue eyes shine with excitement and mischief. He's wearing a white and blue t-shirt, complementing the brown tone of his skin and material stretched across his broad shoulders.
The longer he goes without a response, the broader Lance's grin gets and the harder it's getting for Shiro to breathe.
"Hi," Shiro finally manages to croak out.
A small concerned line forms between Lance's eyebrows and his smile drops. "Er, sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have…? Maybe I should go?"
"No!" Shiro practically shouts, shaking the table as he makes an aborted lunge for Lance. "No, it's okay. I'm just a little surprised it all. Please stay, Lance."
Lance's eyes are wide but fortunately he's smiling, amused or flattered or freaked out, Shiro can't tell. Silence feels like it lingers between them but barely a moment passes, and Shiro averts his gaze, embarrassed by his awkward outburst and flustered under the intensity of Lance's attention.
"Of course I'll stay," Lance says softly. He leans back in his chair, long legs extending under the table and settling on either side of Shiro's, pressing their calves together firmly. The touch is comforting but Shiro's heart jolts and he glances back up at Lance, who's smiling warmly.
"So, I was out on an innocent coffee run," Lance continues considerately. "And I just walk in and here you are! Which is crazy. But also makes sense because we both go to school here and you used to work here and I study here. What's actually crazy is that I haven't seen you before."
Shiro hums thoughtfully, fiddling with the edge of his book. "Perhaps you have seen me and don't remember."
"No, no. I would definitely remember you, Shiro."
"You're right, the white hair is fairly…" He pushes his fingers through the length flopping across his forehead. "Unique."
"Unique, eye-catching, incredibly attractive," Lance says, smiling into his coffee. Shiro frowns and Lance tilts his head inquiringly. "What? Do I have something on my face?"
"Oh, no. It's just… You're a bit different from what I expected."
"Bad different?"
"Neutral different. You're more…" Shiro trails off, considering how to explain. "Confident. Well, okay, you're always very talkative and excitable but I didn't expect you to be so smooth and composed. You don't seem nervous about this at all."
Lance grins, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. "As much as I love that you think that about me, I have to break the illusion and let you in on a little secret. I'm pretty much dying on the inside right now. That's how nervous I am."
As if to demonstrate, Lance's smile falls, becoming uncertain and small. Just like that Lance opens himself up for Shiro, vulnerable and anxious, trusting Shiro without hesitation. The intensity of Shiro's protective instinct forces him grip the edge of the table to stop himself from reaching out and holding Lance.
Of course Lance is nervous. How many partners has he had who have let him down? How many times had he thought he'd met someone who cared for him? No wonder he hides behind those bright smiles, hiding his hopefulness and trustingness to protect himself. But not from Shiro.
"But I'm also really excited," Lance admits, dropping his gaze to where he's tracing lines on the lid of his coffee cup and then smiling up at Shiro, brilliant and genuine. "Because you're here and I'm finally meeting you and… Well, you're all the amazing gentlemanliness I expected. And so much more."
Shiro feels warmth rise to his face but diligently ignores it. Clearing his throat, he asks, "What have you been up to today?"
Lance's face lights up at Shiro's interest. "This morning I visited my sister and my adorable little niece. She had her first birthday a few weeks back and she's becoming so much more aware, it's exciting to watch her growing. And she's just the sweetest little thing, I want to gobble her up she's so cute."
Shiro feels himself smiling unconsciously, helpless in the face of Lance's cheerful enthusiasm. He doesn't know how to respond, doesn't want to respond, doesn't want to break the bright, bubbling spell of Lance's happiness.
"Here, I have pictures," Lance says, digging his phone out of his pocket and swiping through to his gallery. Holding the phone over to Shiro he instructs, "Swipe left."
Inhaling sharply as their fingers touch in the exchange, Shiro focuses his attention on the image of a chubby baby on the screen. Her skin is the same golden brown as Lance's and she has soft little curls of dark brown hair on her head. Her bright blue eyes shine, wide and excited as she plays with various toys.
"What's her name?" Shiro asks, straightening his reading glasses and swiping through the photos.
"Alyssa."
He stops on a photo of Lance and Alyssa, drawing in a deep breath as his heart feels like it's swelling, filled with warmth and affection. In the picture Lance is sitting beside Alyssa on a sofa, smile utterly adoring as he leans down towards her and she reaches a tiny hand out, touching his jaw. Shiro can practically hear her delighted giggle.
Swallowing hard, Shiro glances up to see Lance watching him carefully.
"She looks so much like you," he comments with a smile.
Lance laughs. "If only I was that cute."
You are.
"Oh wow," Shiro says, smile broadening as he swipes a finger over the crack at the corner of the phone's screen and the chip missing. "You really did crack it."
"What? You thought I was making it up?"
"Well, you do have a flair for the dramatic."
"Touché," Lance grins, leaning forward for his phone and inspecting it. "I was sitting over there and I squealed and dropped my phone. There was a group of girls nearby and they all laughed at me. It was extremely embarrassing."
Shiro pushes his fist to his mouth in an attempt to control his laughter, but it's no use.
"Stop laughing!" Lance protests half-heartedly, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "You try having a gorgeous dude flirting with you and telling you he can 'be a bad boy' whilst you're in public."
Shiro frowns. "You hadn't seen me yet."
"Gorgeousness isn't restricted to physical attractiveness," Lance asserts, pocketing his phone to give himself something to do as a blush tints his cheekbones. "We're attracted to more than someone's physical form."
"You're attracted to my personality?"
Lance meets Shiro's gaze, sincere and intent even as he blushes adorably. Mesmerised, Shiro watches the impressive, slow bob of his Adam's apple in the long, elegant column of his neck. Someone this beautiful shouldn't exist.
"I'm incredibly attracted to your personality, Shiro."
The air rushes out of Shiro's lungs and he freezes, equal parts thrilled and terrified. Lance likes him. Lance likes him a lot. Lance is here, bright and wonderful, telling him amazing, impossible things. And yet all Shiro wants to do is run away, save Lance the hassle of his friendship and divert Lance from the morose, melancholy that is Shiro's life.
"Ah, sorry," Lance mumbles, smiling with embarrassment. "I shouldn't—I'm a little full on sometimes. You're just—. Sorry."
Shiro wants to shake his head, tell him it's okay, admit how deeply he appreciates Lance's candour and affection. Reciprocate and disclose his own fondness. Because he honestly and truly hasn't met a person he's felt more drawn to than Lance. Two weeks, two short weeks, and he's falling so unbelievably hard.
But there is an invisible wall between them. Shiro's wall. And he doesn't know if he can break it down just yet.
"So, how much more work do you have to do?" Lance asks. He's not oblivious to Shiro's inner turmoil – he knows how well Lance can read people – but Lance graciously doesn't draw attention to it.
Shiro hums thoughtfully, shaking his head free of gloomy cobwebs. "Just a few more essays. Should be able to get them done today."
"Do you think I could stay here and stare at you longingly?"
"Er, probably not, I'll get no work done."
"Thought as much. Oh well," Lance allows, pouting, and Shiro swallows back the desire to bite his pushed out bottom lip. "I'll leave you to it."
Lance detracts his legs from where they're resting against Shiro's and he instantly misses the firm contact. Lance rises from his chair and waits, hesitant. Shiro knows he should say something, wants to—needs to say something.
"So, I'll see you soon?" Lance asks, voice so vulnerable it makes Shiro's heart clench painfully.
"Yeah, sure," Shiro nods, smiling fleetingly before lowering his gaze back to his work.
"Okay… Bye, Shiro."
Squeezing his eyes closed, Shiro listens carefully to Lance's reluctantly retreating footsteps. The door of the café opens and closes.
Shit, shit, shit.
Shiro's hand curls into a fist, knuckles whitening and blunt nails digging painfully into his flesh. He bows his head, inhaling deeply. He feels uncomfortable and wrong, tense and on edge. He shouldn't have let Lance leave like that. Not when he was finally there. Right there, within reach and offering Shiro his heart, unassuming and hopeful.
"Shit," Shiro growls to himself, rising hastily from his chair. "Shit, shit, shit."
People in the café stare at him as he rushes to the door but he pays them no mind. Outside, he spots Lance quickly as there aren't many people around, and races after him, closing the distance with long strides. His fingers encircle Lance's wrist and he pulls him to a halt.
"Shiro?" Lance blinks at him, frowning with confusing but a smile already curling his lips, happy to see him. God, Shiro wants to kiss him.
"I—uh, sorry. I shouldn't have just let you leave like that," Shiro admits, heart hammering nervously. "I don't really know how to… Do you want to come over for dinner? Tonight?"
Lance's eyes widen a fraction before he grins blindingly. "Come over to your place?"
"Y-Yes?"
"You're inviting me over to your place for a date?" Lance questions, biting his lip and taking a step closer to Shiro.
"Oh, no, I didn't mean—Just dinner," Shiro assures, feeling his cheeks flush.
"Pity," Lance teases light-heartedly. "But I would love to come over for dinner."
"Okay. I'll, um, text you my address and let's say, around seven?"
"Sounds perfect," Lance says sincerely, staring at him for a long lingering moment before his gaze flutters down to where Shiro still has his wrist trapped. "Planning on letting me go or have you reconsidered my offer to stare at you while you work?"
"Shit, sorry."
Shiro retracts his hand, palm warm and already missing the feel of Lance's smooth skin. Lance smiles so genuinely and affectionately it soothes through Shiro's body, easing his muscles and calming his mind.
"See you tonight, my kind sir Shiro," Lance says, miming tipping his hat as he backs away.
"Tonight," Shiro agrees. Walls broken down and leaving him bare, he inhales a deep, free breath. He feels the shift, gravity turning and changing, pulling him in a new direction. Because he wants this, he absolutely and undoubtedly wants this. "See you soon, Lance."
Leaning against the wall, praying it isn't dirtying his shirt, Lance takes deep, calming breaths. He can do this. Despite the long minutes he's been lingering outside Shiro's apartment nervously, he can do this!
Straightening and dusting the back of his shirt blindly, Lance presses the buzzer to Shiro's apartment spontaneously. No more overthinking, no more worrying. This is what he does and what he's good at, diving in headfirst without a life-jacket. He's Lance fucking Martinez Fernandez and he can do this.
The speak box crackles and Shiro's voice comes through, "Hello?"
"Hey, Shiro. It's Lance."
"Lance," Shiro says, and he doesn't think he'll ever get over the way Shiro says his name, even over this speaker humming with feedback. "Come on up."
The door clicks, unlocking, and Lance makes his way inside. Shiro only lives on the second floor so Lance avoids the elevator and takes his time with the stairs, attempting to steady his heart.
Meeting Shiro today had been dizzying and overwhelming. Lance knows how he feels, how deeply his affections for Shiro already lie, but seeing him, really seeing him, felt like having his parachute strings cut. Plummeting, equally exhilarating and petrifying. Having moments of believing that Shiro would be there to catch him and moments of panic, feeling abandoned.
Shiro had stared at him, seeming as enchanted by Lance as Lance was by him. Shiro had smiled and laughed and blushed and stuttered and showed interest. But he also seemed so unsure, of himself and of the conversation. Lance could see how controlled and reserved Shiro was being, understandably worried about letting Lance in.
He can only hope to earn Shiro's trust.
Lance knocks on the door and inspects himself quickly, smoothing his hands down the front of his plain white t-shirt. Fuck, I'm underdressed, he decides, cringing, and the door suddenly swings open.
Shiro's wearing a gunmetal grey button-up and dark jeans and Lance cannot fucking breathe. All strong lines and bulky muscles, thighs and shoulders and chest stretching material deliciously tight. His pale skin contrasts beautifully with his dark attire, just as the lengths of his pitch black hair curls into the patch of pure white locks that fall across his forehead.
They stand there in silence. Framed with long, dark lashes, Shiro's soft grey eyes roam over Lance's body slowly, blinking in surprise when he meets Lance's gaze once more.
"Shit, I'm sorry," Shiro mumbles, embarrassment colouring his cheeks easily as he defies his gentlemanly code. "Ah, hi."
Lance smiles and shakes his head. "No, it's okay. I checked you out too, so I think we're even."
"Come in," Shiro says, stepping aside to allow Lance entrance.
"Sorry I'm a bit late."
"It's fine, I did say around seven," he allows, and ducks his head to hide a smirk as he closes the door. "And to be fair, you did actually make it here on time…"
Finished taking his shoes off, Lance's eyes widen and he whirls. "What?"
"Uh, my kitchen window looks out on the apartment block's entrance," Shiro admits sheepishly, pushing his hands into his pockets. "I saw you arrive about eight minutes ago."
Groaning, Lance buries his face in his hands and Shiro chuckles, that deep, chesty laugh that is well worth the embarrassment to hear. Seriously though, what happened to all of his cool? Shiro just makes him so nervous, more nervous than anyone he's ever met.
"No, it's good. It made me feel a lot less nervous, to know that you are too," Shiro says quietly. Lance looks between his fingers and Shiro shrugs, backing into the apartment. "Dinner's still probably ten or so minutes."
Lance's gaze wanders the spacious apartment, with modern furnishings and immaculately clean it looks like something out of an interior design magazine. Lacking personal warmth it doesn't particularly surprise Lance, knowing Shiro, but what does surprise him is the entire lack of Keith in the place. Not Keith himself, physically, but the place lacks any suggestion that he even lives here.
"Where is Keith?" Lance wonders aloud, strolling over to and leaning on the island that separates the open space kitchen and living area.
Shiro snorts a laugh. "Guess."
Lance's eyebrows raise. "At Pidge's. Wow, so, that's going well then?"
"Yeah, really well. As far as I know. Now that I know about it, I really see it and you were right, it's in everything they do," Shiro explains, moving around his kitchen with purpose. It's unexpected and impressive. "I should probably concentrate or I will burn something. Feel free to make yourself at home. Sorry, I shouldn't be long."
Lance waves off Shiro's worry. "Nah, man, I'm good. You concentrate, do yo thang!"
Shiro raises a thick eyebrow at him. "You really do talk like that."
"I really do. Now, concentrate!"
Huffing a laugh, Shiro turns back to his cooking and Lance wanders off.
Along the built in bookshelves there are framed family photos. Photos of an unscarred, laughing Shiro pulling a scowling Keith into the frame. Photos of a beautiful, older woman – who Keith is the spitting image of – and a tall, severe man, amused by their two dark haired boys pulling faces. Photos of Shiro and a boy who looks exactly like Pidge – definitely Matt – grinning brightly at the camera.
Lance glances back at the man in the kitchen and attempts to reconcile that he's the same person smiling in all these pictures. The pictures of Shiro before his broad shoulders strengthened under the weight of his burdens and before it became too much to bare, breaking him and making him hide himself away from the world.
He reaches out, carefully touching the cool glass of the photo frame as his fingertips trail Shiro's openly happy expression. Lance wants him to be happy again, wants him to smile freely and carelessly, wants him to enjoy his life. Lance wants to be a part of Shiro's life, wants to be a reason for his happiness, and he doesn't care how selfish that makes him.
Drawing his gaze away from the photos and his mind from his hopelessly hopeful thoughts, Lance continues further into the apartment. He enters a hallways of closed doors and frowns at them each in turn, doing eenie meenie miney moe.
Anyone who knows him should know better than to say 'make yourself at home.' So really it's Shiro's fault for allowing his naturally snooping ways run rampant.
"Ah-ha!" Lance says as he opens a randomly selected door and turns on the light.
Inside is dark and dank and messy as Lance expected, walls littered with posters of eye-liner bands and UFOs. Lance rolls his eyes, grinning with uncontained glee. Keith really knows how to live up to all his geeky, angsty expectations. Honestly, Lance thought Pidge was smart.
After taking a few photos – for evidence and for Hunk – the 'boy smell' Shiro had mentioned finally hits Lance and he makes a hasty exit, closing the door firmly behind him. The door across the hallways from Keith's bedroom turns out to be the bathroom, which is as lovely as the rest of the apartment, also good to know. Which leaves one door left.
Lance opens the door to Shiro's bedroom slowly and finds – unlike Keith's chaotic bedroom – a continuation of the rest of the apartment. Neat and modern and slightly impersonal, at least at first glance. As he enters, he notices the small personal touches, small pieces of Shiro.
Shiro's daily routine in the neatly made bed and the reading glasses sitting atop a novel on his bedside table. Shiro's interests, a single shelf above his tidy desk lined with romance novels. And Shiro's heart and soul in a small frame on his bedside, a picture of Matt, Pidge, Keith and himself, happy.
Sitting on the edge of Shiro's bed, feeling immediately guilty for crinkling the perfect white linen, Lance stares at the photo. He feels unreasonably jealous. He wants his photo there. To be the last thing Shiro sees before he goes to sleep and the first thing when he wakes in the morning. No, he wants to be more than just a photo in this room.
Lance slumps back on the bed, groaning at his own stupidity as he stares up at the simple, elegant ceiling fan. Being here is overwhelming. How can he want so much so quickly? Questioning makes him dizzy with confusion, when the raw feeling itself feels so natural, so normal. Because Lance feels like he belongs here. Belongs with Shiro.
He wants, more than anything, to be with Shiro. He wants, more than anything, to be loved by Shiro.
And you're under-fucking-dressed.
"You utter moron," Lance sighs to himself.
"I know I said make yourself at home…" Shiro says, voice light with amusement. Lance lifts his head enough to see Shiro leaning in the doorframe, smirking at him. Holy God in heaven, he's so extraordinarily handsome. Lance slumps his head back on the bed.
"I'm very good at making myself at home," Lance says, relaxing into the bed. "It's a talent."
"I see that," Shiro comments, voice coming closer and coming into view as he stands by the bed, folding his arms over his chest. Still smirking, still gorgeous. "Is there a reason you're messing up my bed?"
"Defending the honour of my bed, obviously."
"Obviously."
"You doubted that my bed was comfortable, that you wanted to judge for yourself. So, clearly, I have to get a sense for your bed testing ability. You know, for—for when you test… my bed," Lance explains, embarrassed heat licking up his neck at the implication of his words.
Shiro presses his lips together to stop himself from grinning and ducks his head a little. "And your verdict?"
"My verdict, your honour, is that while it's a reasonably comfortable bed, mine is still better."
Unable to stop himself, Shiro laughs and fuck is it a beautiful sight. Lance is helpless to do anything but watch as his heart jumps along cheerfully with the sound of it.
"Is that why you're an 'utter moron'?"
"No," Lance sighs, lifting his arms and flopping them back down weakly. "I'm an utter moron because I'm underdressed for this very important date."
Shiro's brow furrows, glancing down at Lance's clothing. "I think you look amazing."
Lance feels himself grinning before his mind even registers the compliment. "Really?"
"Yeah, um…" Shiro trails of and averts his gaze, the tendons in his jaw twitch as he clenches it. "White is just—it's beautiful on you. With your… skin."
Lance bites his lip and props himself up on his elbows. "Would you say I look 'delicious' and 'practically edible'?" he teases.
Shiro's eyes widen before his face cracks open with laughter and a broad grin. A triumphant swell of pride fills Lance's chest as he laughs along joyfully.
"Shut up," Shiro says, half covering his face as he quells his laughter. "That was not me, it was Matt."
"Matt sent the message, but you will never convince me you didn't write it," Lance argues, sitting up on the bed and massaging his pleasantly aching stomach muscles. "Admit it."
"Never."
"Implying it's there to admit!"
"Nope," Shiro says, eyes dancing with mischief and already so much more relaxed than he had been upon Lance's arrival. Lance feels it too, the easy comfort warming between them. Shiro glances down at Lance thoughtfully. "Here, I can fix this whole underdressed predicament."
His fingers slide between the buttons his shirt, undoing them swiftly with one hand. The muscles in Lance's abdomen tense for a whole different reason as he watches Shiro open the sliding door of his wardrobe and slip out of his shirt. His impossibly broad shoulders and barrelled chest slim down to his narrow waist where the muscles are smaller but no less defined. Lance's fingers curl into the sheets and his breath hitches pathetically at the site of Shiro's heavy muscles rolling and flexing under pale, scarred skin.
Fuck, he's turning around, Lance exhales shakily as he comes to some sort of sense.
"Don't you own anything with colour?" Lance questions, eyeing the black t-shirt.
Shiro pauses, half turned towards Lance with his arms raised and about to pull the t-shirt over his head. Which is not helpful, because hello abs and pecs and every other lickable dip and swell of muscle Lance cannot name. Abort, abort!
"Dressing me already?" Shiro jokes as he leisurely pulls off the black t-shirt, refolds it and plucks another t-shirt from his draw. He holds up a deep purple, long-sleeved Henley to get Lance's approval. "Better?"
"Just—can you—? Just put the damn shirt on already," Lance stutters, standing unsteadily from the bed and making his way to the door.
"Oh, sorry, do you need a moment to pick your jaw up off the floor," Shiro teases, smirking as he crosses his arms over his bare chest and fucking flexes. What an asshole. "I thought I looked 'amazing in literally anything,' Lance?"
"Oh my God, shut up!" Lance splutters, leaving the room with Shiro chuckling after him.
He presses his cold hands to his burning face as he makes his way back to the kitchen. Shiro's confidence comes in these unexpected bursts and it fucking ruins Lance. And yet, he loves it, loves the tumble of excitement in his stomach and skitter of his heart.
Shaking free of his flustered excitement, Lance draws to a stop halfway across the living room and realises the lights are dimmed. His eyes widen as he notices the flicker of candlelight, painting the white walls a serene, warm orange. The dining table is set charmingly with bright candles, a fine tablecloth, shining silver cutlery and beautiful white lilies.
It's… perfect. And it's all Lance can do not to cry with happiness. Because someone did this for him. Shiro did this for him.
"I hope you like lasagne," Shiro says, tone nervous as he walks over to the kitchen.
Air rushes out of Lance's lungs as he hadn't realised he'd be holding his breath. "Er, yeah, of course. Who doesn't like lasagne?"
Shiro chuckles. "Good, it's one of few things I can actually cook."
Placing two plates on the table, Shiro pulls out one of the chairs and looks up at Lance expectantly. Uncertain, Lance frowns and tilts his head in question.
"Uh, do you want to sit?" Shiro asks hesitantly.
"O-Oh, right! Yeah, um," Lance mumbles, approaching and taking his seat quickly. Shiro pushes it in for him. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Lance can't stop himself from staring as Shiro walks to his own seat around the corner of the table but close enough that they're practically beside each other. He sits – incredibly elegantly for such a solid man – and carefully places his napkin on his knee. Feeling eyes on him, Shiro pauses and glances up.
"Is something wrong?"
"Are you for real?" Lance questions, his voice light with awe. "I mean, I know I call you a gentleman and you are very considerate and kind. But you don't have to do all the chair pushing and candlelight just because I call you a gentleman. Unless—Unless you want to… Do you? Is this something you just do? Because, wow, you do it really well. Sorry. I'm rambling."
"I like your rambling," Shiro says, smiling fondly. And oh God, it's so much more effective in person. How is it even legal to have a voice that smooth? "It's… something I like to do," he admits, straightening his fork distractedly. "I don't have to if you're uncomfortable with—"
"No, no, it's really nice. You just—it doesn't happen often these days. Further proof that you are a unicorn, my kind sir."
Shiro laughs, serving himself some fresh green salad from the bowl on the table. "Do you want some?"
"Sure. Hunk has somehow conditioned me to like vegetables, even though I hated them when I was a kid," Lance says, wincing at memories. "Used to fight mama about it almost every night."
"I was too scared of my dad to fight my parents on anything. Not that he was a bad person. But when you're a kid, those stern people seem all the more scary," Shiro says, picking up his glass of wine. "You should reconsider your 'gentleman' theory, I forgot to ask if you even like wine."
Lance shrugs, picking up his own glass and swirling it around before taking a sip. "I pretty much drink anything."
Shiro huffs a laugh. "Somehow I think I knew that, even though I'm sure you've never told me. It's just sort of how you seem, like you'll try anything once."
"That's… incredibly accurate."
Lance picks up his cutlery and feels Shiro's eyes on him as he cuts into the square of pasta and meat and Bolognese sauce, steam rising and curling and disappearing. Lance skewers a piece and blows on it before putting it in his mouth.
After living with a borderline professional chef for four years, Lance's palate has grown accustomed to high quality meals. It's a gift and a curse. Shiro is clearly aware of how high his expectations are, with the way he's nervously eying Lance.
Lance hums appreciatively around his mouthful. "Is that… balsamic vinegar?"
"Ah, yeah," Shiro says, averting his gaze to cut into his own food. "It's something my mother does. So… it's okay?"
"Okay? Shiro, it's great!"
Shiro slumps and sighs with relief. "Thank goodness."
"Relax, big guy, it would be unbelievably mean to hold your cooking to Hunk's standard. Or mine," Lance boasts, winking. "I can teach you some things, if you'd like."
"I'd like that. Next time, maybe."
A broad grin pulls at his mouth uninhibited. "Next time," he affirms.
Lance feels light and happy and wonderful as they eat in a moment of comfortable silence. Shiro's sweet chivalry and comforting presence warming him through as much as the delicious food. He honestly doesn't think his heart could beat any faster, when Shiro's knee comes to rest against his own and proves him wrong. Through that small point of contact Lance can feel Shiro's natural heat and grips his fork tightly, fighting the extreme urge to touch and feel every warm inch of his muscle hardened body.
"So," Lance says, clearing his throat and hoping for a distraction. "Tell me again how you and Keith are related. Because apart from the unfair attractiveness I just don't see it. I mean, you're all immaculate, military cleanliness man," he waves a hand around the apartment to prove his point. "And he's legitimately a greasy little goblin."
Shiro chuckles, that deep hearty laugh Lance adores. "He's not that bad."
"Ah, yeah, he is. Have you seen his bedroom?"
"Clearly you have."
"I had to. For… science."
"Sure, sure," Shiro smirks, licking sauce from his lip. "I should probably report this intrusion to Keith."
"Well, that's going to get awkward for you. Defending me against your own brother."
"Who says I'd defend you?"
Lance gasps softly, pressing his palm to his chest. "You wouldn't defend me? Innocent, harmless little me?" he asks, adding a helpless waver to his voice. He furrows his brows like he's about to cry and pushes his bottom lip out.
Shiro swallows hard, the muscle in his jaw working as his gaze roams over Lance's face, fixating on his eyes and mouth. "God fucking damn it, that pout should be illegal," he mutters under his breath. "I'm never going to win an argument, am I?"
Lance grins brightly. "Not likely." He lifts the last of his wine to his mouth and stares into it, pondering for a moment. "Although… You'll probably find ways of swaying me too."
"I think I already did, earlier, but I don't feel like taking my shirt off right now."
Inhaling sharply with wine still in his mouth, Lance chokes and splutters. Shiro leans forward immediately, and instead of walloping him like Hunk does, he rubs soothing circles into his back. His hand is large and warm, burning through his shirt and heating Lance's skin. When he can finally breathe again, Lance laughs into his hand.
"Sorry," Shiro says sheepishly, concern darkening his eyes. Lance bites the inside of his cheek to stop himself complaining as Shiro removes his hand. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. But you're not allowed to be funny, Shiro. You might actually kill me."
"I'll try to restrain myself then," Shiro says, smirking playfully. For all his love of Shiro's bright, uncontrolled smiles, this might be Lance's favourite. It coils something hot and dangerous in his abdomen. "Are you finished?"
"Er, yeah," Lance says, glancing down at his empty plate. "That was lovely, thank you. Do you need help cleaning up?"
Shiro rises from his chair, stacking the plates with all the usual clatter. "You don't have to. We don't have a dishwasher, so it's a hassle, and I can just leave them for later."
"No, I want to. It's the least I can do," Lance insists, collecting their empty glasses and following Shiro to the sink. "Is washing or drying easier for you with your prosthetic?"
It's the first time Lance has acknowledged it. He noticed it today at The Grind, but Matt's done such a good job, the prosthetic barely looks like more than a slightly stiffer hand. Lance has absolutely no qualms about it, in fact he's more curious about it than anything and wants to have an in depth investigation complete with questions. As relaxed as he knows Shiro is about it that would be far too invasive for their first day together.
Shiro shrugs, turning the tap on and filling the sink. "The prosthetic is mostly water proof and I have this long scrubbing brush so either's fine. But I'll wash."
"Aye, aye, captain," Lance says, grabbing a tea towel and leaning his hip against the bench as he waits, watching as Shiro rolls his sleeves up and starts rinsing out pots. Watching the flex of his muscles as he leans over the sink, watching the way his white hair falls into his eyes, watching the water glisten on his pale skin.
Frowning, Shiro glances up at him. "Lance?"
"Ah, yeah?" Lance blinks, glancing around and noticing the dripping kitchenware in the drying rack. "Right, yep, sorry."
"Distracted?"
"Yeah. You're very distracting," he admits freely, picking up a clean plate and drying it.
Shiro nods slowly, smiling knowingly as he turns back to the sink and cleaning off the last few pieces. They work in companionable silence, Lance focusing on his work because Shiro deserves at least some help after all the effort he put into tonight. From the corner of his eye he notices a troubled frown furrowing Shiro's brow.
"Everything okay?" Lance asks gently.
Shiro pushes his lips together tightly, draining the sink and washing away the remaining fluffy white suds. "Yeah, it's just… I don't know. I haven't done this for such a long time. And you… deserve better."
Lance frowns. "What do you mean?"
Sighing heavily, Shiro turns around, rolling down his sleeves as he leans back against the sink and stares down at the floor. Worried lines form between his eyebrows and Lance wants to kiss them away. Resting back on his arms and bowing his head, Shiro looks so vulnerable, so defeated.
"You're this amazingly bright and brilliant and charming person. You deserve to go out and have fun and dance and socialise in exciting, lively places, and I just don't think I can… Not for a while. This is all I can offer and you—you deserve so much more than this, Lance," Shiro finishes, voice low with resignation.
Lance feels something hot grip his heart, clenching and constricting painfully. How can Lance possibly care about any of those things when this beautiful person is so selflessly concerned for him? Wanting the best for Lance. Wanting only for Lance to be happy.
Slowly, Lance sets the tea towel down on the bench and approaches Shiro. Step by step he closes the distance, slotting himself between Shiro's legs and watching his knuckles go white where he grips the edge of the bench. He doesn't move though, his jaw working and breath shortening as Lance moves closer.
"Shiro…" Lance whispers, fingers finding the smooth, clean-shaven edge of Shiro's jaw, thumb pushing his head up from under his chin.
Shiro's dark lashes flutter as he meets Lance's gaze, grey eyes of swirling smoke intense and emotional and wanting. Without hesitation, Lance leans forward and presses their lips together. Shiro's mouth is warm and wonderful, it melts him as surely as the heat radiating from his body. He feels it scorch through his veins, consuming his entire body with the most breathtaking sensation of belonging and adoration.
Lance pushes his fingers around the back of Shiro's head, nails scraping through the short hairs of his undercut. Shiro inhales sharply, his hand finding Lance's hip and pulling Lance flush against his solid chest. With soft caresses of lips and tongue, Lance kisses him languidly and tenderly, rushing nothing. He kisses for comfort and affection; to prove this what he wants and where he wants to be. To show Shiro exactly how much this means.
Pulling away, Lance exhales a shaky breath against Shiro's mouth. He doesn't want to stop kissing him, never wants to stop kissing him, but he needs to tell Shiro. Shiro deserves to hear it.
"This… This," Lance breathes, cupping Shiro's face gently between his hands and holding his gaze intently. "I want something just like this, Shiro. I want you and I want this. Because this is perfect."
Shiro's arm moves around Lance's waist and pulls him in closer. Tilting his head forward, Shiro rests his forehead against Lance's and his eyes flutter gently closed. Wrapping his arms around Shiro's neck, Lance leans his full weight into him, revelling in the warmth of Shiro's body and unprecedented comfort of his embrace.
"Lance," Shiro says, reverently, decisively. "If I'm a unicorn then you're an angel."
He smiles, watching the peacefulness of Shiro's expression. "Mama will be so proud."
A smile curls at the corner of Shiro's mouth and Lance closes the mere inch between their mouths to press a quick, soft kiss there. Shiro's eyes flicker open, dark and smouldering and coiling arousal low in Lance's stomach.
"Can I kiss you?" Shiro asks, voice impossibly low, Lance feels it rumble against his chest.
"Of course you—"
Shiro claims his mouth promptly and Lance has never been happier to be interrupted. The kiss is hotter, more fervent, as Shiro sucks and nips on his lips. Lance groans appreciatively and reciprocates where he can but otherwise allows Shiro free reign of his mouth.
Shiro experiments with angles, tilting his head until he finds the best way to push his tongue into Lance's mouth. Shiro's hand slides down to grip Lance's ass and he hums approvingly, suddenly needing to be somehow closer and unable to get close enough. He lifts his leg over Shiro's, straddling his thick thigh and rolls his hips forward, delicious friction sparking in his stomach and electrifying through his nerves. Shiro groans into his mouth, squeezing his ass in response and—
Something wet and cold tickles at Lance's hip and he jolts and giggles, pulling away from Shiro's mouth quickly.
"Ah, sorry," Shiro says, immediately looking embarrassed. "Is my prosthetic…?"
"No, no, it's not that. Or, well, it is. But it's just wet," Lance explains quickly, not wanting Shiro to feel uncomfortable or self-conscious.
"What?" he says and then glances down to where his prosthetic rests on Lance's hip, wet and covered in soap suds. He pulls it away immediately. "Oh, sorry!"
Lance laughs, pressing a quick peck to Shiro's lips before grabbing the tea towel and offering it to Shiro. "It's fine. Probably a good thing, we were getting into dangerous territory. Not going to let you fuck me on the first date," Lance teases with a wink.
Shiro huffs a laugh. "Who says I'm fucking you and not the other way around?" he questions with a playful smirk, drying his hands and handing the tea towel back to Lance. "Finish drying the dishes, I'll put something on to watch."
Lance gapes, unashamedly staring at Shiro's ass as he walks away, because there's a tantalising idea that leaves his mind swimming with mouth-watering images. Shiro underneath him, writhing and moaning, calling his name, begging him in that delightfully low tone. Harder. Faster. Clenching tightly around him, pulling at him desperately, whimpering and—
No! God dammit Lance, he scolds himself, turning back to the wet dishes dripping in the rack. Get your brain out of your cock. As comfortable as it feels between them, there is no need to rush. In fact it would probably be a detriment to the development of this bright, blossoming thing between them. They've both been spurned by overly physical relationships in the past.
"What are we watching?" Lance asks, finally realising what Shiro had said.
He slumps down comfortably on the sofa next to Shiro, shuffling close and tucking one leg underneath himself, thigh resting on top of Shiro's. Lance has always been a cuddly and affectionate person, possibly overly so. People he's been with in the past have made subtly uncomfortably comments about it, asking why he's always draping himself over them. But Shiro barely glances at the contact, a small smile curling his mouth, before he slings his arm across Lance's shoulders along the back of the sofa.
"I was thinking you fulfil that promise to educate me of the ways of Escape to the Country," Shiro says, clicking through menu systems on the television.
Lance gasps dramatically. "But we're not hung over!"
"Well, you're going to have to make an exception, you sold it too well and I've been wanting to watch it ever since."
"Fine, fine, I am an amazing salesman. Just this once."
"You're so generous," Shiro says, kissing Lance's cheek as he starts the show.
His skin buzzes, warm and tingling in the wake of Shiro's lips. Lance settles back against Shiro's side and his arm comes down to settle on Lance's shoulder. He feels light and giddy with happiness, the weight of Shiro's arm grounding him. Lance doesn't think he's ever been this happy and this is just the beginning. The very best beginning of something wonderful.
It's not difficult to discern when Lance starts drifting off, even if Shiro can't see his face and he's leaning heavily into his side anyway. Lance talks throughout Escape to the Country, discussing the houses and which he would chose. His commentary is entertaining and not at all annoying, speaking at the most appropriate times, when the narrator isn't speaking. Shiro adores it, adores his excitement and the way his voice gets high pitched when he's being overly dramatic.
Lance's commentary gradually diminishes to silence and that's how Shiro knows Lance has fallen asleep. It's comfortable and nice. He wants to fall asleep with Lance, he wants to have this every night. To carry Lance to bed and curl up around him, to sleep entangled with his long limbs. Holding him, loving him.
But it's too soon, too assuming. And as content as he feels, his arm is starting to itch and ache where his prosthetic is attached.
"Lance," Shiro says softly, nudging him gently. "Lance, wake up."
Lance stirs, mumbling indistinguishable words. "Mm… Shiro?"
"Yeah, you fell asleep," Shiro explains, watching raptly as Lance stretches his arms above his head, his back arching and shirt lifting to reveal a teasing strip of lovely brown skin. "Did you drive here? You probably shouldn't drive home if you're this tired. I can drive you home if you'd like?"
"I'm not that tired, I can probably drive, but…" Lance trails off hesitantly, turning to face Shiro. "Can I stay here? Not for anything sexual or anything, just sleep? I can sleep on the sofa. I just… don't want to go home right now, y'know?"
Shiro carefully contains his smile as Lance rambles adorably, not wanting to seem too eager. "That's fine," he says simply, unable to stop himself smiling when Lance grins so beautifully. "You can sleep in Keith's bed if you like."
Lance scrunches up his nose in disgust and makes gagging noises. "Bleugh, no thank you! I'd rather sleep on broken glass or in a vat of acid or bathe in—"
Chuckling softly, Shiro leans forward to kiss him, pushing his fingers into Lance's surprisingly soft styled mess of dark hair. Because, fuck, Lance is a good kisser. Considering the amount he speaks and the way he ate shouldn't be a surprise, but it's a nice surprise, an amazing surprise. Shiro can't get enough and never wants to stop. But he should.
"You know, for someone who supposedly 'likes' my rambling, you sure like to shut me up," Lance comments, lips slightly pink with promise of becoming red and kiss swollen if Shiro were to continue.
"Maybe I just like kissing you slightly more than I like your rambling," Shiro suggests, shrugging innocently. "You can sleep in my bed, I don't mind."
"That sounds like a horribly awesome and amazingly bad idea."
Shiro frowns. "Those are highly conflicting answers, it can't be both."
"Oh but it can! It's a highly conflicting situation," Lance says, averting his gaze as a light blush colours his cheeks. He's right of course. Shiro feels it to, the hesitant desire; wanting but also not wanting to push too far, not wanting to rush. "It's cool, I'm good with sofas. But I'm not tired so let's watch some more?"
"Okay," Shiro agrees, even though he's feeling lethargy beginning to creep into his mind and muscles. Which reminds him. "Um, you don't mind if I take my prosthetic off, do you?"
He doesn't think it will worry Lance, he's been so completely unfazed by it. But Shiro's been in situations – and even relationships – before where people have surprised him with their discomfort, having thought they'd been fine with it.
Lance shrugs casually. "Go for it. It probably gets uncomfortable, yeah?"
"Yeah, just like wearing anything too long."
Shiro sits forward and tugs his shirt easily over his head and furtively watches for Lance's reaction. He'd surprised himself with how excited he'd been about Lance's reaction to his shirtless form earlier, he hasn't wanted to impress someone in such a long time. Butterflies flutter in his chest as he notices Lance staring, biting into his bottom lip and curling his fingers into his palms.
"Do you need any help?" Lance asks and Shiro ducks his head to hide his smile at the hopefulness in Lance's voice.
"Not really, it's a pretty simple attachment. Matt's design is straightforward. He says it'd be a lot more complex, over the chest straps, if the amputation were much higher than the elbow."
Shiro makes quick work of the straps that he could remove with his eyes closed and half asleep – which he's often had to do – and pulls the prosthetic free of his arm. He massages the limb gently and turns back to find Lance holding his shirt out, all rolled up to pull it over Shiro's head himself, like you'd do for a child.
"Here," Lance says, kneeling on the sofa and helping Shiro into his shirt. Shiro lifts his arm obediently, tampering down the broad grin threatening to spread across his face as he heart jumps helplessly. How can someone this beautiful and adorable and kind and funny exist? How can someone this wonderful and angelic want to be with him?
"What?" Lance asks when he notices the way Shiro is staring at him, tilting his head in that endearing way Shiro already loves.
Feeling exceptionally joyful and warm and relaxed, Shiro wraps his arm around Lance's waist and pulls him down on top of him. Lance flails but allows Shiro to manoeuvrer him until they're lying face-to-face along the sofa, Shiro's arm slung over Lance's waist, hand splayed and rubbing unhurried circles over his spine.
"So I assume this means the date went well?" Lance asks quietly, deft fingers tracing lines gently against Shiro's face. Shiro closes his eyes, revelling in the touch.
"Incontrovertibly."
"And you've liked spending time with me? You… like me?"
"Unequivocally," Shiro says, opening his eyes to watch Lance smile. "You're so beautiful, Lance."
Lance blinks, biting his lip as his brilliant blue gaze roams Shiro's face. "And you, my kind sir Shiro, are fucking gorgeous."
Shiro hums happily, smiling as he closes his eyes again. He feels heavy with sleep, mind full of soft kisses and vivid ocean-blue eyes, surrounded by Lance's blissfully intoxicating scent and happier than he's been in months, possibly years.
"Are you sleepy?" Lance asks softly, fingers carding through the white and black lengths of Shiro's hair, he leans into the touch. "You should go to bed."
"I'm fine here," Shiro mumbles, tightening his hold around Lance emphatically.
He can practically see Lance's fond smile even without opening his eyes and then there's a soft press of lips against his mouth and nose and forehead.
"Okay, but I'm just going to—" Lance squirms in his arm and Shiro groans a complaint. "I'm not going anywhere. Calm down, big guy," he laughs.
Lance faces the television and Shiro pulls him flush against his chest, sleepily nuzzling into the back of Lance's neck and hair. Lance laces their fingers together and Shiro barely feels the squeeze, barely hears the soft murmur of 'thank you', before he feels himself falling…
Impossibly fast. Too far gone. Absolutely infatuated. He's fallen.
"Are you sure?" Lance asks. "Hunk is literally going to ask a million questions. He may seem like a giant teddy bear but he can be the bad cop in an interrogation when he wants to be."
Shiro's car engine cuts out and he pulls the key from the ignition, turning to face Lance with a fond smile. When he smiles at Lance like that he can almost fool himself into believing they've been together for months and years instead of having only physically met each other yesterday. Being around Shiro is just so easy, it feels so natural.
"I think you're forgetting that I'm studying to become a lawyer," Shiro says, voice light with amusement. "I'm good at answering questions and I'm sure Hunk will warm up to me."
"Oh no, he'll love you so quickly your head will spin," Lance asserts confidently. "But he'll still do the protective Mom Friend routine."
Shiro chuckles and climbs out of the car. "Come on, Lance."
Sighing heavily, Lance makes his way into his apartment building with Shiro following closely behind. His stomach is twisting nervously. Not only will Hunk be there with all his questions and tough best friend bravado, but Allura will be there with her teasing and judging. His only reprieve will be the ever gentle and understanding Shay, maybe Lance can just hide behind her.
Waking up this morning with Shiro curled around him had been amazing; Lance doesn't think he's ever slept so well and they had been cramped on a sofa. Neither of them had wanted Lance to leave and they stalled with breakfast and cuddling until Shiro offered to help moving Hunk and Allura today. Lance jumped at the offer, eager to spend more time with Shiro, but hadn't thought through the whole meeting the friends awkwardness.
Lance pauses with his key hovering before the lock and stops to turn back to Shiro. "Quick, while you still have the chance, run!"
Shiro's mouth curls into a smile and his hands settle on Lance's hips, pulling him against his body easily. Lance melts into him, feeling tension ease out of him immediately.
"It'll be fine, Lance."
It's what he says but Lance recognises the tightness in his smile behind his amusement and the uncertainty in his dark eyes. Lance is more nervous for Shiro than anything. He knows some social situations can make Shiro anxious and never wants to put him in an uncomfortable situation.
He's probably not making it any easier for Shiro. So Lance smiles, sliding his arms around his neck and leans forward to kiss him. Freshly showered and shaved, Shiro smiles like absolute heaven, clean and crisp and delectable. His mouth is minty and warm, and Lance pushes into it hungrily, suddenly far too cold and desperately seeking Shiro's warmth.
The apartment door opens suddenly and Lance just freezes, every muscle tensing. Shiro tries to pull away but Lance clutches onto him and squeezes his eyes closed, hoping they'll just disappear.
"Uh, Lance?" Shiro says uneasily, grip on Lance tightening.
"They're all at the door aren't they?"
Shiro hums an affirmative. Lance sighs heavily and opens his eyes to see not only Hunk, Allura and Shay but, for some fucking reason, Pidge, Keith and Matt as well. Why? Why, oh why, is this happening?
Pidge, Matt and Allura are beaming at them, practically bouncing up and down waving 'Lance loves Shiro' posters like a group of energetic fangirls. Keith's face is scrunched into a grimace like he's about to vomit. Hunk's large arms are crossed over his chest and he's scowling like a disappointed parent. Shay – an angel, an actual real life angel – looks as nervous as Lance feels and smiles apologetically, likely having attempted to stop them all from snooping.
"You didn't come home last night, Lance," Hunk comments disapprovingly, eyeing Shiro.
"Hunk," Shay scolds.
Lance rolls his eyes and steps away from Shiro.
"Did you guys bang?" Matt asks bluntly.
"Christ, Matt," Shiro curses exasperatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose, mostly to cover his brightly reddening blush.
"No one calls it 'banging' anymore more, Matt," Pidge remarks, shaking her head. "They clearly fucked though, Lance is wearing the same clothes."
"Oh my God," Keith complains, making his way back into the apartment to hide.
"They better not have," Hunk says.
"As if they didn't," Allura comments, grinning brightly.
"Okay, that's it!" Lance snaps, raising his voice and successfully silencing them. "You guys need to chill the fuck out! This relationship is between me and Shiro. We didn't have sex but even if I do decide to have sex with my boyfriend it has nothing to do with any of you!"
"Boyfriend?" Shiro says into the subsequent silence and Lance's eyes widen.
Shit!
"Er, I mean," Lance stutters awkwardly, his face burning. "You know, i-if that's what you want… to be."
Lance holds his breath for what feels like a lifetime, waiting for Shiro to respond, heart constricting painfully at the million words of rejection that flood his thoughts. Ever so slowly, a smile breaks through Shiro's surprised expression, bright and beautiful, lighting his entire face and stealing Lance's breath away.
"Unequivocally," Shiro says, reaching out for Lance's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing reassuringly.