Summary:

last resort: why am I even in this chat?
uptown hunk: cause you're one of us now, man
coo coo motherfuckers: there's no escape
vive la lance: you love us ;)
last resort: definitely not
Need-A-Hand: Now you see what I put up with
LLunarGoddess: we're not so bad once you get used to us
I-Mustache-u4ur-Soul: Welcome to the family, Keith!

..............................................................................................

[ THURSDAY ]

Keith is already regretting his life choices.

"To be honest, with your mullet, I was expecting a lot more eighties songs or emo remixes." Lance says from his seat against the mirror. Both of their bags have been tossed to the side, and Keith's phone is in Lance's hand, hooked up to the speakers as Lance browses through his music. Keith had made a playlist specifically for today with all the songs he has full or partial choreography for.

They're in room 4D, which had taken a lot of stubbornness on Keith's part and a lot of whining on Lance's. Keith insisted that he wasn't going to practice in a room with a shoddy auxiliary cable. Lance had eventually given in when Keith reminded of him of his promise about no complaining.

"I don't listen to that much eighties." Keith grumbles, stretching an arm across his chest. He knows he can't deny it completely. Lance had heard him listening to Billy Idol after all.

Lance looks up at him, eyebrows raised. A small smirk curves his lips. "I don't hear you denying the emo music."

Keith glares at him, switching arms. "I don't listen to emo music either."

Lance scoffs, lifting Keith's phone and dangling it between a thumb and forefinger. "So you're saying that if I go through all the music in your phone, right here, right now, I won't find any music that classifies as emo?"

Keith holds his glare and purses his lips. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks. "It was a phase."

Lance's face breaks out in a wide grin. "Aha! I knew it! You do have emo music on here!"

"It's only there for nostalgic purposes."

"Oh yeah? Like what? When you get all moody and broody?"

Keith snorts, rolling his eyes. He throws an arm behind his head, putting a hand on his elbow to stretch it. He looks away, turning so his side is to Lance so he doesn't have to look at him. "Like when Pidge and I go on road trips."

The silence is uncharacteristic. After a few beats of it, Keith glances back, eyebrow raised. Lance's eyes are blown wide, his jaw practically on the floor. He's not really sure what would warrant that reaction.

Keith blinks. "What?"

"No. Way." Lance breathes, blinking out of his stupor. "Pidge had an emo phase?"

Oh. Oh. A small smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. "Did they never tell you that?"

"No!" Lance is grinning now, and Keith isn't sure how his cheeks don't hurt with the sheer size of it. "I cannot believe— You're kidding me, right? This has to be a joke."

Keith shakes his head, switching arms. "Nope. Pidge went through the emo phase with me. Dyed their hair and everything."

"Oh. My. God." Lance throws back his head and laughs. The motion rocks him backwards and he hits his head on the mirror, cutting off his laughter abruptly. "Oooow," He whines, but he's still grinning as he rubs the back of his head. "You have to give me pictures."

Keith shakes his head, letting his arms drop. He swings them, crossing them in front of him before pulling them back. "Nope, not gonna happen."

"Keith, please. This is a need."

Keith shakes his head again, giving Lance a small smile. "Nope. They would kill me. Or at least try to maul me. You can't dance with me if Pidge breaks my legs. Besides, they have too many photos of me to retaliate with."

"Ugh, why must you ex-emos always stick together." He groans, slumping against the mirror and letting his arms flop to the sides. He pouts, glaring at Keith. "Hunk is my best friend, and I would totally sell out his embarrassing high school pictures for a donut and some coffee."

Keith rolls his eyes, but he can't help the small smile on his face. He turns his back to Lance to hide it, walking out into the center of the room. "I don't know why Hunk puts up with you."

"Hey, Hunk loves me."

"He's too good for you."

"Would Shiro have embarrassing pictures of you two in your emo phase?"

Keith freezes, his smile instantly disappearing. He turns around slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Don't you dare."

Lance's grin is back, along with a wicked glint in his eyes. "Oh, I dare."

Keith sighs, waving a hand at him. "Just pick a song. We only have this room for an hour."

Lance huffs and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, "Party pooper." But he does as he's told. Keith stretches out his legs as he waits, doing his best to ignore all the muttered comments about his music taste.

Unfortunately, there's only so much he can take.

"Just pick something." Keith groans.

Lance scoffs. "How about you cool your jets, hot shot? This is a big ass playlist, and a big decision! Besides, how am I supposed to know what dances are good or not?"

"They're all good." Keith huffs.

"Pfff, yeah, okay. But they need to be regionals worthy."

"Just... pick some songs and I'll demonstrate them for you."

Lance looks up at that, eyebrows raised and eyes wide as he blinks. Then his expression settles into something more... suggestive. His eyes go half lidded, a smirk curves his lips, and he tilts his head to the side as he waggles his eyebrows. "Oh ho ho, gonna put on a personal show for me?"

"Lance," Keith says flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. He ignores the heat that's crawling up his neck. "Don't make this weird."

"I take offense to that. I never make things weird."

"You're the epitome of weird."

"Rude!"

"Just pick a song."

"Fine!" He looks back down at the phone in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen. "This one. It's go time, mullet man. Show me what we're working with."

The opening to Rather Be starts up, and Keith immediately lets it wash over him. A small smirk tugs at his lips as his eyes drift closed as he takes up his position in the middle of the room. His head bobs loosely, and his foot taps to the beat. He breathes deep at the pause, and then the lyrics start and Keith is moving.

The muscle memory comes easily, and he's a little thankful that he's practiced this one a lot recently. He hates to admit it, but he really does want to show off a little for Lance. And this is the perfect song to do just that. Lance couldn't have picked a better one to start off with. This is the song he had been planning to do for solo auditions. He won't tell Lance that, though. He'd rather let the guy think that he's usually this smooth remembering all of his choreography.

Still, he's glad he actually gets to do this dance for Lance. Make him watch. Prove to him that he can dance, and he can do it well. Hopefully make him shut up for once. It's just like he wanted it at auditions: Lance's eyes on him. His undivided attention. Lance being forced to watch as Keith shows him what he's capable of. Impressing him. Except unlike auditions would have been, they're alone, and that adds a whole new level of intimacy that Keith expected to be awkward. Instead he feels a little thrill run through him, and—

And now he's the one making it weird.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he lets the music and lyrics tug at his muscle memory, dragging his body around like a puppet. In a way, he has perfect control. In another, he's a complete slave to it.

His arms alternate between rigid and flowing movements, jerking and locking into place before sliding into the next movement. His steps are precise, shifting and altering his body weight and balance to better accommodate the movements his arms make. He spins and steps. Flow, stop, move, pop. There's big movements and small, more precise ones. He grabs at his clothes, slides his hands along his body, gestures widely with his arms, rolls his hips, all the while his feet carry him around the dance floor.

He doesn't watch Lance. There's too many movements to focus on one place for long. His body is constantly turning, spinning. His head whips around. This way and that. He runs his hands through his hair, tugging some strands loose from his pony tail. He looks up, whips his head to the side, then back front, looks down, flips his hair. He has no time to focus on anything. Not Lance. Not himself in the mirror. So he goes through the movements with his eyes half lidded and unfocused, putting all of his concentration into not second guessing himself, letting his body react the way it had been trained to. He knows this dance. He knows it like the back of his hand. And he just needs to trust his body, his instincts, to follow through.

This dance has a lot of movements in it. One constantly flowing into the next. A lot of emotion shown in the way his whole body gets into it, his head, his limbs, his hips. He ends up on the floor, legs and arms crossed as he rolls his shoulders. It's a slow enough moment that he takes a second to look up at Lance.

What he sees makes his heart jump into his throat.

Lance is staring at him with wide eyed awe. His lips are parted slightly, face relaxed. He looks... completely blown away, and Keith feeds on that. But then the seconds have passed, and he's throwing himself across the floor, legs and arms getting into it. Then he's on his feet again. The chorus builds. He jumps. The beat picks up with it, and his feet dance quickly in measured steps. He alternates between fast movements and slow ones, rolling his hips and running his fingers through his hair. He can't bring himself to look at Lance again.

When the song ends, Keith is left panting. He puts his hands on his hips, chest heaving with every breath. He bends at the waist a little, letting his hair fall in front of his face. A lot of it has come out of the small ponytail. He would be lying if he said he hadn't choreographed that dance with his hair in mind. He has the length to flip it around, so why not? It keeps him from having to look at the audience for too long.

He straightens, running a hand through his bangs to get them out of his face, and looks at Lance. As soon as they made eye contact, Lance's mouth snaps shut and his brow furrows. He looks down quickly. "That was, uh..."

"Yeah?" Keith prompts when he trails off.

"Uh, good. I guess. Yeah, pretty good."

Keith is grinning. "Now try saying that without looking like you're having a tooth pulled."

"Yeaaaaah, that's not gonna happen."

Keith sighs. "Laaance."

"I'm trying, okay? Yeesh, get off my back." Lance still hasn't looked up at him. He's scowling down at Keith's phone, thumb scrolling through the playlist.

Keith sighs, giving up trying to make eye contact. He walks over to his stuff and grabs his water bottle, guzzling several mouthfuls before lowering it, gasping for air as he wipes his mouth. He pulls out his hair tie and puts it between his teeth as he gathers up his hair. Once it's secured behind his head again, he turns to look at Lance.

He's staring at him again, face contorted into a glare.

Keith scowls. "What?"

Lance shakes his head, looking down again. "Nothing." Before Keith can push it, Lance continues talking. "Why don't you have like, any of my girls on here?"

Keith raises an eyebrow. "Your girls?"

"Yeah! Like Shakira—"

"No."

"Lady gaga—"

"No."

"Rhianna—"

"No."

"Oh, come on, Keith!" Keith is never sure how he manages to pull off his name like an insult, but he does. "Live a little!" He scowls down at Keith's phone, scrolling, when suddenly he stops. His scowl melts into the largest shit eating grin Keith has seen to date. "Oh, man, you have Anaconda on this list? Are you serious? You've got to be shitting me right now."

Keith groans, crossing one arm over his chest while the other goes to his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He should have known not to put that song on there. But it had been late, and he had just hurriedly slapped together everything he knew he had a dance for. "It was on a dare." He says, sounding exasperated.

"Do tell." Keith really wants to just punch him.

Keith sighs, waving a hand around in the air and avoiding looking at Lance. His face is on fire and his ears are burning. "I was experimenting with choreographing different dance styles. Matt and Pidge said I wouldn't, so I did."

"Oh my god, that's literally all it took?"

He can just hear that grin in his voice. He makes some kind of noncommittal grunt in the back of his throat.

"In that case, I bet you won't do it."

Keith looks at him, face blank. "What? Now?"

God, how is it even possible for him to grin that wide? There has to be some sort of regulations on this shit. How can something so bright piss him off so much? Keith can barely look at him. But he does, because he's stubborn. He holds his gaze steadily, feeling his expression morph into a scowl in an attempt to smother the blush he feels. The itch beneath his skin is back. It only seems to happen around Lance.

"Yup! Right here, right now."

"You're kidding."

"I'm dead serious, Keith. Dead. Serious." He tries to darken his expression, but he can't quite hide that grin.

"No way."

"Yes way! You said you were going to demonstrate any dance I wanted to see! What if I want to pick this song for auditions?"

"You don't. You literally just want to see the dance."

"Okay, guilty, but what's the harm?"

"I'm not doing it, Lance."

"What's wrong, Keith?" He tilts his chin downward, gazing up at Keith with a smirk that makes his blood pressure rise and his stomach boil. "Scared?"

"I'm not scared!" He snaps.

"Prove it!" And then he's hit the track and the music starts playing.

Keith glares at him, but Lance holds his gaze, smirking with all the confidence in the world. Fine. Lance wants to see it? Fine. Keith is going to wipe that fucking smirk off his face.

The beat starts along with Nikki's lyrics, and Keith is in motion. He steps sideways, shaking his hips twice before he's shifting back, dropping slowly on the balls of his feet, knees out and hands sliding along his thighs. Be bounces twice before he's standing again, hips cocked and rotating while his arms go through the motions.

Honestly, he's surprised he even still remembers this dance. It's been years. He guesses his muscle memory is better than he realized. He shouldn't be too surprised. When he comes up with a dance, he practices it step for step, move for move, dozens, if not hundreds of times. He beats that shit into himself until he can practically do it in his sleep. He refreshes a lot of his favorite dances occasionally, but this one he hadn't done in ages.

Under normal circumstances, he would be a little hesitant, a little worried that he wouldn't be able to remember the moves. He might even get a little in his own head, probably stutter step a little.

But... there's just something about Lance that brings out his grim determination.

Eyes locked on Lance's, he feels a strange calm come over him. He doesn't think. He just lets the oddly familiar beats tug his body into place like a mannequin. He doesn't question himself. He trusts his body to do what it needs to. It's... a strangely freeing feeling. It's not often he gets into a zone like this, but damn, does he love it when he does.

Lance doesn't look away, and even if he tries, Keith won't let him. Eyes locked, face relaxed, he goes through the dance. It has a lot in common with his usual choreography: the sharp, quick movements interspersed with slower glides. The main difference is there's a lot more... hips in it than he's used to. A lot of thrusts and grinds and struts than he usually does. But it fits the song.

When he first preformed it for Pidge and Matt years ago, he had been nervous. He felt awkward doing the moves, like he was somehow doing them wrong, despite all his practice and despite it looking fine in the mirror. He wasn't sure if he could actually pull them off. Eventually, the laughter from his friends was enough for him to get into it, laughing at himself and the sheer ridiculousness of it. Pidge assured him later that it was actually really good, even if they found it funny.

Now, however, Keith doesn't feel nervous at all. He feels nothing but the fire that rolls and boils in his gut. His moves get quicker, and he hits them all. There are a few times where he forgets the exact positions, so he improvises with a few body rolls and hip movements to get him into the next part he remembers. His hands slide through his hair, and at some point he pulls out his hair tie all together, flipping his hair and letting it fall in front of his face.

He expects Lance to laugh. He expects some sort of joke. Instead, he gets to watch with increasing satisfaction as Lance's jaw drops, eyes widening. It's similar to the look he had given him earlier, but there's something... different. He looks transfixed. The awe is definitely there, but there's also something unreadable in his eyes. Surprise? Probably. Keith doesn't know what it is, but he doesn't care. As long as that stupid fucking smirk isn't there anymore.

Keith closes his eyes for a moment, breaking eye contact for the first time since the song started. He rolls his body, turning sideways and tilting his head back—

And then the song cuts off.

His eyes snap open. He's mid turn, and he freezes. Without the music playing, this pose feels incredibly awkward, and something akin to self consciousness starts to seep in. It's covered immediately by a flash of anger.

"Lance, what the—"

"Nope. Enough of that. We're done."

Keith straightens, leaning his weight to one hip as he crosses his arms over his chest. "You were the one who wanted me to dance to that stupid song—"

"And now I'm saying that we're done." Lance's words are clipped, his voice oddly strained. His eyes are downcast, looking at Keith's phone, lips pursed and brows furrowed. His tan complexion is made darker by the flush settled onto his cheeks. He's shifting restlessly where he sits.

"Lance, what are you—"

"Done!"

"What—"

"Moving on!"

"Fine!" He throws his arms up in the air, spinning on his heel to turn his back to him. Lance doesn't make any sense, and he's done trying to figure him out. They're not even halfway through their practice, and Keith is already done.