History of Klance (klance one-shots)

Red Bouquet

After the show, Keith and Lance are alone and changing out of their Paladin armor when a rosy-cheek, alien girl sheepishly approaches them.

"You were amazing," the girl blushes, a bouquet tucked beneath her slender arm.

Lance smirks and squares his shoulders, "why, tha—"

The alien offers Keith the array of spotted, red flowers, "you were magnificent, Black Paladin. I couldn't help but watch you the entire show."

"Th— thank you," Keith mutters, accepting his gift.

The girl's smile brightens. With one last diffident wave, she darts out the room, smoke steaming from her ears. Lance notices Keith's cheeks turn red as his armor when he eyes the bouquet. Lance sneers at the flowers then at him.

"She must've gotten you confused with me. Those flowers are clearly red, which means they're meant for the Red Paladin of Voltron."

"Jealous much," Keith rolls his eyes and turns the other way.

"What? I'm not jealous. You're the one who's jealous," Lance snaps, slamming his boot rough against the cold, tile floor.

"Why would I be jealous?"

"Just— just hand them over."

Lance moves for the flowers, but Keith pulls them from his reach. "Enjoy the gifts from your own fans."

"I do have fans. More fans than you."

"I never said that wasn't the case."

Lance leaps for the flowers, and Keith, again, keeps them from his grasp.

Lance pouts, thin eyebrows furrowed. He tries again for the bouquet, holding Keith in place by his wrist.

"Give them," Lance whines.

"No way," Keith retaliates, pushing Lance away.

And like that, the two Paladins — supposed protectors of the universe — wrestle over red, polka-dotted flowers. They shove each other's shoulders. They kick at one another's ankles. Body against body, hands yanking hair and fabric. At one point, the two boy's hands are around the stem of the bouquet, Lance's fingers overlapping Keith's stone-cold grip.

Lance stares at Keith as his pulse kicks into overdrive. Has Keith's skin always been this pale? Like a field of fresh snow at morning's rise. Has his nose always curved up in such a way? Has Lance ever bothered to notice? Or has he been preoccupied within Keith's eyes? Grayish purple, hard like steel. Or his hair. Imperfect yet just the right amount of perfect.

Keith charges Lance, sending them both tumbling to the ground. Lance hits his back hard, which hurts all the worse when Keith's heavy body lands on top of him.

"Ow," Lance mutters as Keith scrambles to prop himself up.

The two boy's legs are entangled, Keith's hands on either side of Lance's shoulders, their faces moments apart. Lance feels Keith's warm breath against his cheek, which makes him a cluster-fuck of excited and scared.

"I'm sorry, I—"

Lance reaches up, weaves his fingers through the pitch-black strands of Keith's hair, and pulls him in for a kiss. Why? He isn't sure. But he does, and Keith kisses him back, and it's beyond wonderful.

But every moment, no matter the grandness, ends inevitably.

Keith pulls away and stumbles to his feet. With a heavy breath and wide eyes, he says, "fine. If you want them so bad, keep them,"

Keith, ears red and shoulders stiff, exits slowly. Too slowly. All the while, Lance is waiting — praying — for Keith to turn and leap back into his expecting arms. But even a dreamer's luck has its limit.

When Keith disappears from sight, Lance groans and rubs his throbbing head and neck. He looks at the spotty flowers which lay motionless beside him.

After a moment of deafening silence, he shouts, "Dammit."

————

(A/N): Hello, y'all! I hope you enjoyed this short story. If you're a previous follower of mine or interested to know what I'm up to, I suggest following me on Instagram @the_rachelle_faucet. There's not much klance/wattpad related content there, but I do appreciate it nevertheless.

I have an announcement for a non-klance project I'm working on, so stay tuned for that at the end of this short-story collection.