Okay so this thing turned out to be wayy longer than I thought it would be so I decided to make it 3 parts instead of 2, making this part entirely about Keith and Lance alone together because borderline smutty stuff in one chapter is way more satisfying AHEM - anyway -

Even though this is a short one, I will conclude everything in part 3. :)

"Lance, could you turn out the light?"

It sounded innocent, but there was meaning behind that question and both of them had known it. Lance wasn't sure when the effects of the Sirens wore off on Keith, only that it was definitely long before Lance had climbed into bed with him… half-naked. They'd been talking. Just talking, for the first time, honestly and openly. Lance told Keith about his family, his huge, ginormous family that, back on Earth, he couldn't get away from for five seconds. Keith listened and laughed. Lance felt that weird thing in his stomach again when Keith laughed – it was such a rare sound, low, husky and natural. Keith's pupils gradually began to get smaller as he normalised. And Lance pretended not to notice. He could have left and gone to his own room - fallen, exhausted back into his own bed and slept three days' worth, but he stayed. And then this happened:

"Lance, could you turn out the light?"

Lance gulped. He was still dressed in his Paladin armour. Keith waited expectantly, not a hint of the puppy-eyed, child-like sulkiness left. He was normal again.

"Uhm…" Lance started. "Y'know, I can go if you wanna get some sleep or – y'know, rest – well, I guess they're the same but"-

"You could just sleep here." Said Keith. It came out in a thoughtless beat, and Lance wasn't sure for a second what Keith meant by 'sleep'.

Lance rest his elbow against Keith's wall and leant in an attempt to look cool. He slipped and thwacked his head against it instead. Smooth, Lance, real smooth, his inner bitch snarked at him. Keith's laughter sounded - genuine and rough, again.

"I meant to do that." Said Lance seriously.

"Yeah. Sure." Said Keith, still laughing.

There was a long silence in which Lance knew he had to make a decision fast. Turn out the light – that's all he needed to do. It was hardly a difficult one was it? But what did 'turning out the light' entail? If Lance thought of Keith as a brother then 'turning out the light' would just mean what it said. But prior to Keith asking him to 'turn out the light' there'd been all this touchy stuff, all this heart to heart chat, and in Lance's limited (very limited) experience with girls, 'turning out the light' was, more often than not, the suggestion that more touchy stuff should happen, only the kind of touchy stuff that's inappropriate to do when in lit surroundings. So what, then, should he do? Was he misjudging the situation entirely? Had he been from the start? After all, Keith had only kind of cuddled him a little bit. That could have been in a friendly way. And all this talk about not wanting to lose each other and families and stuff, that was just bro talk, right? Yeah, they were bonding. So when Keith said 'turn out the light' it was because he was tired. And by offering for Lance to sleep there, presumably in his bed with him, he was just being kind, you know, saving him the trouble of walking through the castle all the way back to his own room.

"I'm gonna turn out the light!" Said Lance resolutely, springing from Keith's bed and marching to the wall switch.

"Finally." Said Keith, rolling his eyes. But he was smiling too, so that was okay.

Then Lance turned out the light.

Plunged into sudden darkness was a bit of a shock. Lance couldn't see Keith, but he could hear him - his breathing from the bed, long and tired. Lance wasn't sure why his heart was beating so fast. In the dark it sounded louder. Quiznak, could Keith hear his heartbeat? He sure hoped not. For a solid three seconds, Lance stood by the light switch, momentarily stunned by the intimate proximity of the situation and he wasn't even in the bed yet.

"Uhm, are you coming in?" Keith asked uncertainly.

So Lance had been right, he did mean to share the bed with him. Well, it made sense – he had been laying on that bed for a solid few hours, so what was the difference now? The difference was this: it was dark. And he had to take his armour off.

"S-sure. One second." His voice cracked. For a moment, Lance sounded like he was entering puberty again, and Keith snorted from the bed.

Definitely normal Keith. So it was safe. Safe from what, Lance still wasn't sure. But safe.

Lance peeled off his armour and couldn't believe how sweaty he'd gotten. It was kind of gross, actually, and he considered warning Keith but then thought - why would Keith care? Left in nothing but his underwear (he wished he'd chosen a more flattering pair), Lance proceeded to the bed. It wasn't a large bed, so there was really absolutely no way of avoiding skin-to-skin contact. Keith's thigh pressed against Lance's knee, not intentionally probably, but Lance felt a jolt shoot right from that place and spread through his lower half like electrical liquid.

"Yikes, you're cold." He gasped to disguise why his body had involuntarily jerked at the contact.

"Freezing." Keith replied. And this was the part that really freaking annoyed Lance; a few hours ago, Keith would have concluded that 'freezing' with a soppy, mind-numbingly embarrassing, "Hold me, Lance. Warm me up, Lance" or something of that calibre. But instead, Keith left that sentence totally, ambiguously open. It would have been so much easier for Lance if he was acting up the same way he was earlier. Then he'd have no trouble opening up his arms and enveloping a cold Keith into his own, sweaty and overheated body. But no. Keith - Difficult Keith, constantly leaving Lance with these insane ultimatums that led to an internal battle which could potentially explode into something totally embarrassing or dignity-destroying or both. So Lance decided to be equally annoying.

"Well, I'm burning up." In the dark, he smirked. What do you make of that, Keith?

Lance nearly bolted when Keith's icy hand reached out and touched Lance's shoulder like it was nothing.

"Hmm, yeah. You're right." He said calmly. Calmly.

Keith's hand stayed there, his palm splayed over Lance's skin. "What are you doing? Conducting heat?" Asked Lance dryly, still thoroughly annoyed at Keith's ambiguity.

"No." Said Keith. "Just touching."

That threw Lance off guard. Was he still affected? Normal Keith wouldn't 'just touch' him, would he? Not like this.

"Uh huh." Said Lance, unable to think of a comeback. "Y'know if you're cold, you could uhm" –

"What?"

"Y'know, like, I'm really warm so, if you want you could like get closer or something if you wanted, I don't know." Lance squeezed his eyes shut in a violent cringe, grateful that Keith couldn't see him. Where was his sweet, smooth-talking coolness? Down the drain, apparently.

The next moment, Keith's cold body was pressing against Lance's chest, his head resting beneath Lance's chin. His arms were drawn up to his chin and he was shivering; he hadn't been lying when he'd said he was freezing. Awkwardly, Lance snaked his arms around Keith, one underneath his waist and the other over his back, his hand coming to rest near the base of Keith's spine. He instantly regretted that decision. WHY HAD HE PUT HIS HAND THERE?! That was like – like he meant something with this, but now he couldn't move it because that would be blatantly acknowledging the fact that his hand was located in a weird position. Weird, as in, if he moved his hand any further down, he'd be slipping over extremely non-platonic territory. Keith's shuddering breaths warmed Lance's neck and slowly, he uncurled his arms and laid one hand to rest in the dip of Lance's waist. A few minutes passed this way, neither daring to break the silence and neither daring to move, and all the while Lance was becoming increasingly aware of the demands of his lower half, doing everything he could do keep his hips poised away from Keith because nothing – nothing would be worse than Keith discovering the extent that Lance was feeling this.

"It's a good thing you're hot." Said Keith, his mouth moving against Lance's chin. When had he got there? When had he moved? Lance was rapidly losing track of reality.

"That's what all the ladies tell me." Said Lance – an automated response and undeniably inappropriate in this situation. Keith's grip on Lance's waist tightened.

"Well, I'm telling you." He said through gritted teeth.

Lance's heart stopped.

What? What was that? Keith didn't deny or make fun of his badly timed joke? And what's more – was that jealousy in his voice?

"Uhm… thanks." He hadn't meant for his voice to come out like that. All raspy and breathless and unsure and so not cool. But Keith was making him unsure, so unsure, because the next moment, Keith's chest was rising and falling against Lance's hard and fast, his arms flexed and he was pulling Lance towards him. Lance's hand at the base of Keith's spine acted on its own, pressing Keith's hips closer. Their legs tangled and Lance felt the restless movements of Keith's cold feet pulling the sheets. Their limbs twisted and reformed around each other, every time finding another excuse to shift and move and press and pull in an ever increasingly rhythmic pattern. Lance slid his knee between Keith's legs and a soft, quiet moan left Keith, the sound pressed against Lance's throat. Lance continued the slow movement with his knee, a gentle tempo, rocking between Keith's thighs. It was like he'd pressed a button, because Keith made that wonderful sound again, his voice continuing to betray him. Gradually, Lance increased the pressure and pace of the movement, finding with each slide up and down, the rougher Keith's voice became, accompanied by harsh breaths from deep inside his chest. Then Lance didn't need to move his knee anymore, because Keith was moving on his own. Keith's hands raked the length of Lance's back and his teeth scraped against his shoulder. In a swift roll over of arms and legs and hands, Keith was suddenly on top of Lance, his face still buried in the crook of his neck. What had been some suggestive and slow grinding rapidly became what Lance could only think of as aggressive humping, which was not only exhilarating as heck but confusing because – why wasn't Keith kissing him yet? Surely what they were doing now was supposed to come after that? Lance sure as hell knew he wasn't going to do it first. And that was the problem. Neither of them wanted to engage in kissing first because that would make what they were doing officially romantic. This – this jostling and rubbing and shifting and rhythmic backwards and forwards could, with some stretch of the imagination, be played off as simply moving, but kissing? That was a whole different thing. As long as their clothes stayed intact and their lips never touched then this was just…

Lance couldn't think anymore because Keith's voice in his ear was a bitter-sweet distraction and why was his own mouth so dry and open? Had he been making noises too and not even realised? Lance was so lost in the feel of Keith against him that he'd become numb to his own actions. His hands were in Keith's hair, on his back, drawing him closer, pulling, scratching, grabbing – he was everywhere.

Their noses touched, teasing at what could be if either one of them inched forwards a millimetre. Lance traced the length of Keith's chest, down to his stomach and felt Keith shudder hard, stopping when he found the fine line of hair trailing from his belly-button to his navel, to…

It would be so easy, only centimetres away and Lance would be crossing a whole new line over a bridge they'd only just discovered. Keith had stopped moving. He was poised, leaning on his palms above Lance as though he was about to perform a series of push-ups, his breaths low and ragged. He was waiting. So Lance stopped thinking. He flicked the switch in his head and plunged his thoughts into darkness, letting his fingers move on their own, communicating his desires in a way that his voice never could.