i bet you look good on the dancefloor

Chapter 3: of missed alarms & finer details of cooperation

Keith chases his group around late into night, not really caring about the complaints that follow. Sadly, Lance notices, he's getting the brunt of Keith's wrath.

Oh he wonders why.

He gets degraded from 'Lance' spoken in an assholish tone to 'McClain' and that's by far the biggest defeat he ever experiences.

Keith's a fucking prick, Lance firmly decides, when he gets yelled at one times too many or winds up in yet another petty argument with the group's instructor. He's arrogant and struts around like he's hot shit and has the authority here – technically, he does, but Lance conveniently forgets that fact. He's positively insufferable and so kind to the confused dancers who don't get something and need another repeat of move combinations that it sorta makes Lance cringe.

Lance is jealous as hell, but he'll never admit that out loud. He only clenches his jaw and keeps up, sweatshirt soaked through. Yikes.

"Would you mind teaching me how to shift my weight properly when we have to–"a short girl with curly blond hair asks, and instead of trying to describe it, waves her hand in a 'screw it' gesture and goes over the combination. She tries to bounce backwards from her toes to a light crouch but it looks so bad that the people standing behind her stifle laughter into their palms.

Lance would let out a snort too, but he knows exactly what she's aiming for, remembers his own ambitions that resulted in pulled muscles. Remembers looking idiotic, too.

Keith lightly smiles at her and shoots the laughing bunch a nasty glare, threatening. He then rolls up his oversized pants a little bit so that the girl can see the movement of his legs better. Lance drinks in the explanation, fingers twitching for his phone all the while. Oh, it's coming, it's coming.

Once he's done, Keith rubs his palms together. "Alright, it's rather simple. I showed you the shift, now carefully look at what I'm doing."

'Oh, I'm looking alright.' Lance thinks frantically and feels like a sinner when he casually pulls out the phone. He may feel like he's in heaven right now but he's definitely going to hell for this.

Keith goes over the motions slowly and it's insane how he manages to balance so well when he has to keep the rather difficult poses for a prolonged period of time. Back in the day, Lance could barely hold himself upright while trying to do them as fast as RB members.

He slides backwards with a light bounce. Lance bites his lower lip. "See what I'm doing? Always keep your hands or elbows pressed into your legs." No no no, don't do that, I'm calling the police, Lance screams internally when Keith digs the elbows into his thighs, spine dipping beautifully. "It all revolves around your sense of balance. If you're tilting forward, arch backwards. Shift the gravity center to your heels without removing your hands and then..." He continues the easier part of the combination in normal pace, spreading his legs in that fast rolling motion that makes the straightest of men noodle out. Keith smoothly adjusts the pose, jumping up, curling lightly to the left and then locking. Lance mentally crosses himself and fiddles with the phone. "Got it?"

Lance counts like five people in the room who haven't gone completely red-faced.

The girl – her pale face now colored an interesting shade of magenta – nods curtly and mimics Keith's little show. It's not perfect, her balance still wavers, but it looks way better than before.

Lance quickly sends the four second long video to Pidge with an attachment to GIF IT.

Another hour passes, filled with 'c'mon, McClain, I thought you were good at this' and 'if you're getting too tired here you can always drop out and go home', and then some retorts such as 'oh, I'm just getting started, Mullet', followed by 'won't get rid of me that easily, are you scared that I'm too much for you?'. For all his cockiness, by the time it's over, Lance feels as though he's dying – he's already forgotten what intense practice feels like. He whines to Em about gross cooling sweat until she takes pity and takes off the old AC/DC hoodie, throws it into Lance's overheated face. He'd rather go through ten more sessions with Keith than sleep in sweaty clothes.