Make a Statement

Lance expresses himself not only in words and actions, but also through what he wears. Through clothing, Lance learns who he is. AU Keith/Lance. Klance.

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Based on fanart by lowaharts on tumblr. Visit JessicaMDawn on tumblr and add the following to the end of the URL - post/148247526009/lowaharts-casual-klance-for-my-body-and-soul-i

Lance is meant to come across as Latino in this, and I intended Keith as Japanese but didn't focus much on it. Also, Altea is a kingdom on Earth in this AU.

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When he was a boy, Lance wore shorts every day and didn't care if they got wet when he chased his siblings and cousins into the crashing waves at the beach. He wore shirts only when necessary – for school or visiting the doctor or things like that. Otherwise, he went bare-chested through all the days of his youth.

Lance as a child was tanned, wet, and spunky. He was the middle child in a family of five siblings, and the smallest, but he could match each and every one of them for speed and stamina.

He was six when he first met the princess.

A shuttle touched down at the oceanside docking station. Lance's entire family showed up, along with most of the town, to glimpse the visiting royalty. Six year olds don't care why royalty is visiting their city. They just get excited because it's royalty.

Then Lance's sister – Maria, a five year old who cared less about royalty than her older brother – pulled his ear. Hard.

"Hey!" Lance yelped, and the two got into a squabble.

Their older siblings tried to hold them back, but they were slippery. Lance pulled her hair. She scratched his arm. He kneed her in the stomach. They completely forgot about the blue carpet just beyond the line of adults separating them from the door to the royal shuttle.

In a moment of fate, however, his sister kicked him in the shin and Lance toppled backward through the invisible line, between where commoners could stand and watch, and where royalty was about to tread.

"Oh dear. Are you alright?" a kind voice asked.

Her skin was even darker than his sun kissed tan. Her ears were pointed. Her eyes were kind. Her hair was the color of moonlight. She was six years older than him, and Lance was instantly in love with her.

"You're the princess!" he shouted, still lying half in her path on the ground.

The king, the royal Voltron guard, and Lance's parents all arrived on the scene at the same time. On that occasion, Lance's parents did more talking (apologizing) than Lance himself did. In the years to come he would have many conversations with the princess of Altea, but not then.

Just as she was lead away by her father, the princess turned and smiled at him. "That's a nice shirt you're wearing," she said.

It was the only shirt his parents had been able to force him into – a t-shirt with a fighter plane on it surrounded by clouds. Lance tugged on his shirt and blushed, and forgot to thank her before she was gone.

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In his teens, Lance began wearing jeans. The only reason anyone could think of was that many of his classmates had begun to wear jeans. Away went the shorts and bared knees. In came the denim.

"Mrs. McClain-Sanchez?"

The hard plastic chair in the front office was uncomfortable. The fact that he was missing out on class time because of a pair of jeans was stupid. He picked at a loose thread at the knee of his jeans and cast his gaze around the room.

"Hello. This is Veradero Academy. Yes. Yes, again. You'll need to bring him a pair of uniform pants if he's to go back to class."

Lance rolled his eyes. Kelvin had sneakers that vibrated every time he got a text message but no one sent him to the front office. Lance hated those shoes, but he was curious too. What did it feel like to have your feet vibrate every time someone messaged your vidphone?

"Yes ma'am. Once more and it'll be on his record. He needs to start wearing the full uniform."

That uniform is what his father blamed for Lance's other change in attire – long sleeved shirts. Lance still spent a lot of time at the beach, and there he went shirtless, but other than that he'd begun to cover up more than ever. The academy uniform shirt was a polo in either navy blue or cream white. And Lance's dad was absolutely correct. It was all the short-sleeved uniform's fault.

"Do you want your school record marred by noncompliance over a pair of jeans?!" Lance's mom yelled on the way home that day. His siblings in the back seat tried and failed to stifle their laughter at their brother's misfortune.

Lance fumed. "I like my jeans!"

Mrs. McClain-Sanchez huffed. "Well if they're worth losing your dream of being a pilot, then go ahead. Keep wearing them to school."

All the air rushed out of Lance's chest. "What?"

"They won't let you join the army or get anywhere near an Altean fighter plane if you have noncompliance and misconduct marks all over your record, Lance." His mother wasn't yelling anymore but her words still stung like individual slaps.

The argument ended there, but Lance's brain did not. He hated the Academy uniform. It was so boring. His jeans had made him stand out just a little. He didn't want to give that up, but he didn't want to lose his chance at being a fighter pilot either. So he spent the next few days studying the school rules in every form he could get his hands on, even older copies that were defunct.

That's where the long sleeves came in.

Lance wore brightly colored, long-sleeved shirts underneath his short-sleeved, collared uniform shirt. The school couldn't discipline him for it because there were no rules against it. There was nothing stating he couldn't wear a second shirt underneath his uniform. It was clear that the administration wasn't happy when he pointed this out – even referencing the school handbook – but at least one of his teachers silently approved of his originality.

So Lance was allowed his individuality in his covered arms while at school. Outside of school, he also wore the jeans, obviously.

Jeans and long sleeved shirts, and a jacket.

His grandmother gave him the jacket. She gave it to him for Christmas when he was fourteen. It was so long that it hung almost to his knees. Lance was still the runt of the family. Even his ten-year-old baby brother was taller than him by an inch.

"He'll grow into it," his grandmother had insisted when his parents had looked unsure. And she would eventually be proven right.

Lance wore that jacket everywhere. The sleeves swallowed his hands. The hood could engulf his face. He said it was like walking around in a fallen down circus tent, and he loved it.

When the cold weather disappeared, to be replaced by warm winds and a warmer sun, Lance's family thought the beloved jacket would find a home in Lance's closet until the next year. Instead, Lance began tying its arms around his waist instead.

"I can't leave it at home," Lance told his mom when she asked about it, as the height of summer approached and the air outside was sweltering. Even sweating, Lance wore the jacket about his hips.

"Why not?" she asked.

He looked at her like it should be obvious. "It's my thing. It's my jacket. It's my style," he said with effusive hand motions. "What if I'm out and there's a chill or rain and I need it? Besides, if I leave it in the closet all the time, it'll get lonely!"

It was just the sort of random, nonsensical reasoning the family had come to expect from Lance, but it still made them roll their eyes.

At fifteen, Lance had a growth spurt. Then another at eighteen, stretching up until he was the tallest person in the family. The runt of the litter had finally grown up, at least in body. The jacket then fit like it was made for him.

And though Lance was still feisty, active, and headstrong most of the time, his parents worried whenever he stopped moving and took a moment to breathe. When they saw him quietly reading or focused on a video game or using a simulator alone, they wondered.

He was so covered in cloth, lost in his sleeves and pants and jacket, it was like he was hiding in his clothes. The one time someone asked him about it, it was his big sister Isabel.

"You're so different than you were as a kid," she said.

Lance simply shrugged in his oversized jacket. "I'm just finding out how I am."

"How?" Isabel asked.

"You know. My style. How I wanna be seen. Who I'm gonna be. I don't want fads. I want me."

The answer was so mature that Isabel felt like her brother might be more of an adult than she was, four years his senior. Then he farted and joked about his butt obviously wanting more beans, and the moment was gone.

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When he was eighteen, Lance, as the top pilot in his graduating class, was invited to the palace. There he met Princess Allura once more.

"Hello again, Mr. Sanchez," she greeted him. "You wear your Academy uniform well."

Lance gave a quick bow. "Th-thank you, your highness." She was leagues more beautiful now than she was the last time they met.

"No need to be quite so formal. We met once, many years ago," she said, motioning for him to stand up straight again.

He couldn't believe it. The princess remembered him. She traveled all around the country and helped rule thousands of people and she remembered some scrawny kid from over ten years ago?! He was so shocked he couldn't even manage to make a flirty comment.

"You were a rambunctious child, and your scores in piloting, as well as your interest in a military career make me believe that you are the perfect candidate for a special job," Allura continued.

Lance was already nodding, cocky smile on his lips and hands on his hips. "Sure. I can handle anything, princess. What do you need me to do?"

"I'd like to invite you to attempt the trials to become a paladin of Voltron," is what she said next, and it sort of fried his brain.

"Voltron?" he asked in shock.

The elite group trained to defend the royal family. A group of five highly skilled warriors had protected every generation of Altean royalty since the day the country was founded. Each royal picked their own Voltron paladins. This was important because they would be those whom she trusted above all others for her safety.

Lance was chosen based on his scores in piloting, speed, and stamina in school. While a bit wanting when it came to the intelligence tests the palace gave him, he made up for it in marksmanship, and scored decently in hand-to-hand combat.

Allura did not require a Voltron team yet, but she was already preparing them for the day that she did. She chose a warrior from each of the five districts of Altea – Keith from the east, Shiro from the north, Lance from the south, Pidge from the west, and Hunk from the center.

The team met. Lance entered last, once everyone else had already assembled. He recognized each one from the files Allura had shown him of his future team. Pidge had cut her hair, Shiro's scar looked less noticeable in real life, Hunk had more muscle than fat on him, and Keith was somehow more attractive in person than in his glamour shot.

Keith looked up, frowned, and asked, "Who are you?" And thus a tumultuous rivalry was formed.

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Lance attended university in the capital. He loved his courses on piloting, space travel, the different forms of martial arts, and even royal etiquette, even though Shiro was better at all of it than him. The only person he cared about beating was Keith, who'd been so rude to him the first day. They were pretty even on space travel and royal etiquette, but Keith was aggravatingly better than Lance in martial arts and left everyone in the dust when it came to piloting. Lance left every training session incensed and vowing to do better.

He struggled to maintain focus in his classes on strategy, military history, regular history, and politics and international relations. Lance could pay attention enough to get the basic idea, but whenever they went into depth on any given topic, he started imagining scenes from his favorite movies that used similar events and completely lost the lecture to background noise.

What was surprising to everyone, especially Lance, was how adept he was in stealth training, even though he was by far the lankiest of the paladins-in-training. He excelled at every stealth challenge, and he made sure to sing his own praises every time. Maybe it annoyed his teammates, maybe it didn't. He did it anyway.

The work was hard, harder than the Academy had been. But Lance was totally okay with taking that pain, because of one special detail. What Lance appreciated about life in the capital and in service to the princess was this: unless performing formal duties, there was no uniform.

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The first new addition to Lance's wardrobe was a watch. Pidge, resident genius on the team and the only female, gave it to him halfway into their first season at the palace.

"You're always late," she groused at him. "This watch is synced with your official schedule. It'll alert you thirty minutes before every class, every appointment, every meeting you should be at. Then again ten minutes before as well. If you need it, I'll even make it give you step-by-step directions on how to get to each one, but please don't prove to be that stupid."

Lance wasn't sure if he should be insulted. "Thanks, Pidge. I think?" he said as he clipped it in place on his left wrist.

Her finger was in his face a moment later, so fast and so close he actually jolted backward. "If you lose or break it, I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine," she threatened. "That took me weeks to program. I will end you."

"Got it. No losing the watch," he promised.

It took him two weeks to stop fiddling with the gadget. It would be another two weeks before he realized that he didn't feel its weight anymore, and that he put it on every morning without conscious thought. But it worked just as Pidge planned it. Lance was never late again.

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His little sister gave him aviator glasses for his twentieth birthday.

"If you're gonna fly, you gotta look the part," she told him. When he explained that Voltron wasn't the air force, she'd waved him off. "Fighter plane, jetpacks, hovercrafts. It's all the same. Pilots need aviators."

They had faux gold frames and blue lenses. The first time he wore them to a team training session, he walked in with an extra swagger in his step. The rest of the team was, like Lance, dressed in the loose workout outfits they'd been given for use during martial arts training. The only differences for Lance were his watch and his sunglasses, and he worked it.

"Hey, guys and gals," he greeted. "How you like my new shades?" And he used one finger to make them wiggle on his face.

"They suit you," Pidge said, though again Lance couldn't tell if he was being insulted.

"Those are super cool, Lance," Hunk gushed. "I wish I had cool sunglasses like you." He even gave Lance a high five.

"They make you look even more obnoxious than usual."

Lance rounded on Keith, standing just to the left of the group. "Come again?"

A frown on his face and arms crossed over his chest, Keith said, "Your sunglasses show off your over inflated ego."

"Do you wanna go?!" Lance shouted, already rushing at his teammate.

It wasn't so much that Keith called him obnoxious and said he had a big ego, although that ticked him off too. But no one insulted a gift from Lance's sister. Nobody.

In the ensuing scuffle, Lance's sunglasses were knocked from his face. He earned a black eye, Keith a bruised jaw, and both of them earned extra cleaning duties from the princess's counselor, Coran. Lance made sure to wear his sunglasses almost every day there was sunshine after that. If they were inside or there was no sun, he wore them like a headband rather than eyewear. Every time Keith saw them, for months afterward, his face twisted up like he was remembering their fight and how Lance had matched him blow for blow, and that was motivation enough for Lance.

Keith would hate those sunglasses for many years to come, saying they were the tackiest thing Lance had ever worn. Even so, when they were broken during an assignment overseas when they were almost thirty, it would be Keith that bought Lance a new pair for his next birthday.

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His next change in attire had to do with Keith, directly this time.

"You know what, Mullet for Brains? Go cry into your emo music."

All four of his fellow paladins-in-training looked at Lance like he had a few more screws loose than they thought.

"Do what now?" Keith asked. He couldn't even maintain the anger he'd held a moment ago during their argument over safety protocols. Amazingly, Keith felt there were too many and Lance was arguing that there were just enough, even though Lance was the team member most likely to sneak around the palace at night.

Lance waved his hand in the air like he was swatting a fly. "You know, that stuff goths listen to. Like you."

Shiro, the oldest of the group and the one who usually broke up Keith and Lance's arguments, furrowed his eyebrows. "Are you saying Keith's a goth?"

Goth, it was explained to Lance, was a far cry from what Keith wore. Keith wore black shirts and pants and fingerless gloves, sure, but he also wore red and white. Sometimes he wore a red undershirt and a black button up. Sometimes he wore a red and white leather jacket. Sometimes his gloves were red or white. Several days after this argument, Keith would wear a red undershirt and a white button up and Lance would actually need to sit down for several minutes before his chest stopped doing cartwheels. At the moment, however, he was still being schooled in what, exactly, Keith dressed like.

"Well if he's not a goth, then what is he?" Lance asked, as if Keith weren't standing next to him. Keith, in response, crossed his arms over his chest and glowered.

Pidge adjusted her glasses. "A biker."

"A biker," Lance repeated.

Hunk nodded. "Yeah, cause, you know. He rides hovercycles. His is the red one that parks by the handicap spot right by the training gym every day."

Unwilling to admit defeat, Lance said, "I still say he's a goth."

"Do some research before you go making stupid claims," Keith grumbled.

So of course Lance did. He spent about five minutes looking at internet results for 'goth guys' before admitting that no, Keith did not dress or look like a goth. Then he looked up hovercyclists and…okay, yeah. That looked a lot like Keith. Especially when he looked up eastern hovercyclist fashion. Actually there were pictures of Keith himself. The guy was apparently pretty well known back in his home region.

Lance would find a way to be pissed off about that. Honestly. Right after he picked his heart up off the floor from looking at a picture of Keith, still on his cycle, just having removed his helmet, after winning some big race or whatever. He was sweaty. He was dirty. He was smiling.

When he finally stopped looking at Keith's pictures and instead focused on plain hovercyclist fashion, Lance saw that a lot of casual cyclists, rather than professional ones, had chains from their belts to their pockets. Further research showed this was to connect to their wallets so that they wouldn't lose their ID cards and creds while flying along at high speeds.

They looked kinda cool. A bit edgy. Edgy was attractive, right? And considering part of their training involved sustained flight via jetpacks, really useful.

He ordered one immediately. It arrived within a week. It was a testament to the subtle design he'd chosen, and also his jacket's size covering most of his waist area, that no one even noticed it for several days.

Surprisingly, the only team member who didn't tease him for it was Keith.

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For his twenty-first birthday, the paladins-in-training all took Lance out about town. They paid for Lance's food and drink everywhere they went. They'd done the same for Keith and Hunk on their birthdays, and would do it for Pidge as well. Shiro was already twenty-three when they became paladins, but insisted he didn't mind missing out.

Dressed up as best he knew how, Lance was disappointed when no one approached him in any of the clubs they went to. "Pidge," Lance whined, laying his arms out across the bar miserably. "Pidge, Pidge. You're a girl, right?"

She gave him a very unimpressed look and drank her soda. "Last time I checked."

"Why don't people find me attractive?" He waved at the mass of dancing bodies a few feet behind them. Hunk and Keith were out there. Shiro was their designated responsible one and kept an eye out. "Why doesn't anyone want to dance with me? I'm one hundred percent legal in every way now! And I'm open to all players. I should be rolling in dates!"

Pidge looked Lance up and down, as if she'd never considered him before. She probably hadn't. Then her gaze moved to the dancing bodies.

"A vest," she said at length.

"A vest?" Lance replied.

Pointing out specific individuals, all wearing vests of some kind over their other clothes, Pidge explained, "The most attractive ones out there are wearing them. See? It slims that guy down. It makes her look curvier. It's hiding her butt, which she seems to be self conscious of. It draws attention to the parts of you that you like best, you know?"

Humming, Lance spotted several others in the club wearing vests too. He wondered at that. Wouldn't they get hot? How did you clean a sweaty vest? "Hey, wait, Pidge, if vests are so great, why don't you wear one?" He poked her.

She batted his hand away. "Do I look like I'm trying to attract extra attention?"

Frowning, Lance admitted, "Well, no."

"I'm not interested in one night stands and right now there's too much going on in my life to worry about a long term relationship. So thanks but no thanks," she said with finality. "Now, if you want more advice on vests, go ask Keith."

He followed her finger and saw that Keith was dancing with a guy who, among other things, was wearing a vest. The way their bodies moved together had Lance's face heating up and his stomach clenching unpleasantly. How could someone that looked like that – with or without his stupid vest – land someone like Keith, and Lance couldn't even get a free drink off someone?

Lance pointedly did not ask Keith about vests. Not that night, and not after. He did, however, ask Hunk.

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"Hunk, my man, my buddy, my friend," Lance greeted him as he waltzed into the robotics lab.

"Hey, Lance," he replied, looking up from where he was building some sort of mini tiger looking robot. "What's up?"

Lance pulled a chair from one of the other tables in the lab room and sat in it backward. "I was doing some research and it turns out, people think vests are kinda hot. Especially when worn over long sleeves." He kept talking through Hunk's growing confusion. The tiger tried walking away and Hunk turned it off so he could focus better. "So I was thinking, hey, I wear long sleeves! Why not up the hotness factor and add a vest?!"

Hunk put his tools down. "That's…great, dude. But what are you telling me for?"

"Uno, you wear a vest. Granted, it's more functional than fashionable, but still," Lance began, crossing his arms over the back of the chair.

"Whoa whoa," Hunk interrupted. "Are you-Are you about to hit on me? Because, man, I love you and all, but not in that way. I will totally support you in whatever you do, but I can't return your feelings, if, you know, those are your feelings."

Lance blanched, nearly falling out of the chair. "What? No! Hunk!" Hunk let out a relieved breath. "I want you to come shopping with me for vests!"

"Come again?"

It took about fifteen minutes to wear Hunk down, and the next day saw them store hopping in the capital. They visited eight different clothing stores and Lance tried on fifteen different vests before they found one that both could agree looked great and felt comfortable.

By the end of summer, Lance would have a whole drawer full of different styles of vest. "You gotta have one for every occasion, you know?" he justified.

Somehow, even with the jacket tied around his waist or worn over everything else, Lance still managed to pull it off. And again Pidge was right. Lance got asked for his number or complimented a lot more after the vest joined his attire. He even went on a few dates. Even if none of those relationships lasted, Lance was pleased to be able to get asked out and proud of his new style.

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They were officially made The Paladins of the Voltron Force when Lance was twenty-two.

There was a small ceremony. Lance thought it should've been bigger. Maybe with a parade. Hunk said maybe they save that stuff for crowning royalty and weddings, which Lance had to agree with.

It was aired live on TV and holoscreen, and talked about briefly on radio. However, as the umpteenth Voltron Force to be formed, it only garnered as much attention as a royal baby's birth might. The papers only covered it briefly, stating that Princess Allura had officially formed her team. The briefest of biographies was given for each team member.

Keith Kogane was a renowned pilot from the east who had never lost a race. Takashi "Shiro" Shirogane from the north was the team's hand-to-hand combat specialist. Lance McClain Sanchez hailed from the south and was the team's marksman. Katie "Pidge" Holt had the highest intelligence scores of everyone in the west. Hunk Garett was easily the strongest man in the center region, holding two lifting championships from before he was eighteen.

The article was more about Princess Allura's duties as princess of Altea, how her father planned to step down within the next few years to let her rule, and the history of the Voltron Force in general.

The very next day, Keith walked in wearing his usual black jeans and black fingerless gloves, a black button up and red undershirt, but he too had added to his wardrobe. Around his waist was a utility belt with various sized pouches. Lance didn't care about the belt itself – other than to try and ignore how it brought attention to Keith's waist. What caught Lance's attention was the belt buckle on the utility belt.

The red paladin symbol stared back at him from Keith's waist. It was expertly crafted, shiny and brand new.

"Hey, where'd you get that buckle?" Lance asked, throwing his arm over Keith's shoulders and pointing.

For the most part, he and Keith no longer bickered about any given thing. If asked, they would each say they were friends. Who nitpicked each other and liked to one-up each other, as friends do. Two years training together would do that to you.

Shoving Lance off, Keith said, "I made it."

Of course he did.

Well Lance wasn't about to let Keith Kogane one-up him in team spirit, of all things. Lance was the epitome of spirit. His older brother back home liked to made leather engravings, and Lance had picked up a thing or two from him over the years. On his next trip home, he had his brother walk him through how to brand the blue paladin symbol into leather. On his next several trips home, in fact, since his first attempts were pretty awful.

It was just the paladin symbol in blue, to match Keith's red one on his belt buckle. Why was it so hard to do right?!

"I could make it for you, you know," his brother offered. "I wouldn't even charge a paladin of Voltron."

Lance frowned and shook his head violently. "No. No. No. I gotta make it myself or it doesn't count."

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In the two months it took Lance to make his first Blue Paladin wrist cuff, the team ran four missions without the princess – though on her orders. During each one, Lance had to leave his layers of fashion behind and don the white and black armor of a Voltron paladin.

Lance was taken hostage during one of the missions and had to wait three hours for rescue in the form of Pidge hacking all the locks and Keith and Shiro taking out all the criminals. He'd never really thought fighting could be sexy, but both Shiro and Keith pulled it off. The team also attended eight meetings and events with the princess. While far from the only one ever injured, Lance did find himself shot in the arm once, cut on the face once, and locked in a room filled with poison gas once.

In his defense, he did manage to get all eighty-one delegates and the rest of his team out before the gas entered that room, so he thought he did pretty well. Shiro still lectured him while he recovered. Hunk still hugged the breath out of him when he was back on his feet. And Keith still glared at him for a week after he resumed training with them. All but the hug sucked.

Also in that two months, Lance learned that Keith's utility belt was really handy. Keith had bandages, disinfectant wipes, and a couple protein bars in the bigger pocket. Lance had even seen him pull a spare pair of gloves from that pocket. In the other, Keith had a set of what looked like green and yellow poker chips that, when thrown, acted like tasers to whatever they hit. Apparently Hunk and Pidge designed them. Also a mini screwdriver set in case his bayard was damaged. After the poison gas incident, he switched out his extra pair of gloves for a compactable face mask and added a third pocket to hold tiny, travel sized bottles of water. He was probably the most prepared paladin. Even Shiro, who tended to plan for the worst outcome, was impressed by Keith's foresight.

Maybe Lance should get a belt like Keith's.

"I want you to have this," Allura said to Lance one day after dismissing the others, while Lance was still in his armor.

She handed him a bracelet made of perfectly round red stones. Lance let out a hum. "What's it for?" Was it a gadget? Did it do anything? It wasn't his birthday, or any holiday. Why was she giving him this?

The princess gave a small smile. "It's made of a protection stone," she informed him. "You seem to be the most danger prone of my paladins, so I thought it fitting."

Lance put on his best grin. "Aw, princess! You care about me! Should we go on a date next or-"

"It's also a stabilizing stone. I'm hoping it'll help you to calm down," Allura interrupted him before turning and walking away, leaving Lance standing in the middle of an empty room with a red stone bracelet in his hand.

When he'd first started training to be a paladin, Allura's brush off might've stung a bit. She'd been his ideal lady since he was six, after all. But they were sort of friends now, and she was royalty, and it was never gonna happen. Not that either of Lance's long-time crushes were ever gonna happen. Actual royalty, or hovercycle royalty, Lance was lost either way. Staring down at that bracelet, Lance briefly thought about how disappointing it was that he got a gift from what was, basically, his employer before he got one from his rival and teammate.

Despite hanging thoughts about his terrible choices in love, Lance bragged about receiving a gift from the princess of Altea all the next day and made sure to show anyone who cared (or didn't care) his new bracelet and explain what it was meant to do and how that showed that the princess cared about him.

"Of course she cares," Keith snapped after about five hours of Lance making a fool of himself. "You're a paladin. If you die she has to find a replacement."

For a stunned moment after the outburst, Lance was quiet. Why was Keith so angry? This wasn't nearly the most annoying thing Lance had done in the past two years. What was bothering him? Was he jealous that Allura had given Lance a gift and not him? Why?

Oh! Did Keith like Allura? When did that happen?

…

…

A week later, Lance finished his wrist cuff and wore it to work. It rested on the same wrist as Allura's protective bracelet. With that last piece in place, Lance actually felt like his ensemble was complete. This was who he was – spontaneous, diverse, and a mixture of memories and events that all added up to Lance, the Blue Paladin of Voltron.

"Nice cuff," Pidge complimented when she saw it. "Where'd you get it?"

Preening like a peacock, Lance held his right wrist up for everyone to see and said, "I made it myself. I have talents too."

An hour later, Keith dragged him into a side room to tell him how much he liked the wrist cuff and Lance learned that no, Keith did not like Allura. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

And Lance was really very much totally okay with that.

…

…

A few months later, Keith marched up to Lance and threw a fist. It didn't go anywhere near hitting Lance but it still made him flinch. The fist stopped just in front of his chest. Keith held it there, staring at Lance with intensity in his eyes, until Lance lifted his own hands toward the fist. Then Keith uncurled his fingers and a small bronze key fell into Lance's open palms.

Lance stared at the key from multiple angles. "Is this-Whoa, wait, is this a key to your-"

"We're not eating pizza again tonight," Keith interrupted, his face a bright red. Then he turned and began walking away.

Lance was bouncing where he stood, excitement radiating off him. It made his bracelet and leather cuff bump together over and over. It made his jacket shift around his waist. Lance stuffed the key into the pocket of his vest, made sure it was closed, and then flipped his aviators from his forehead to his eyes. Then he hurried after Keith and slung an arm over his shoulders.

"Keith, my darling, my sweetie, mi amor, you can pick whatever you want for dinner," Lance said with laughter in his voice.

There was a gleam in Keith's eyes and Lance's laughter died in his throat.

"Wait-"

"No. You said 'anything,'" Keith broke in. He pulled his vidphone from his pocket. "I'm already calling for sushi."

Sushi meant seeing who could stand the most wasabi. Sushi was expensive. Sushi meant chopsticks. Lance was terrible with chopsticks.

Lance groaned and let his head drop onto Keith's shoulder. At his height, it was hard to do that and walk at the same time, but Lance managed it. He looked a bit silly, but he did it. It made Keith chuckle, and Lance peeked up to see the smile on his boyfriend's face.

That was worth chopstick hell.

…

…

"A little help, here, Lance?" Keith growled, everything from his waist up hidden behind a stack of boxes.

Lance slipped by him and opened the door. Then he followed Keith inside the house. Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, and even Princess Allura were all outside grabbing more boxes from the truck to bring inside. ("If all my paladins are here, where else should I be?" Allura had said.)

Keith and Lance moved the boxes into their appropriate rooms for later un-boxing. Keith wore a plain red t-shirt and no gloves or jacket. Lance had foregone his vest and jacket as well – though both were in the house somewhere already, waiting – but was still wearing his long sleeves. The lack of layers meant the string hanging around Lance's neck was more prominent, even when most of it was hidden below the collar of Lance's shirt.

Stopping his organization, Keith asked, "Is that a new necklace?"

Lance perked up and pulled on the string until the whole thing was visible. It was a simple brown cord, but instead of some jewelry at the end there was a key. "Pretty neat, huh?"

Keith furrowed his eyebrows. "Is that the key to my apartment?" Lance nodded vigorously. "But I don't live there anymore."

"Duh," Lance said, waving at the walls around them. "It's sentimental."

"But you don't need it," Keith continued. "If you want a key to wear, why not get one for our house rather than my apartment?"

Eyes wide and playfully betrayed, Lance held the key to his chest like it was a child he meant to protect. "It's symbolic of our love, Keith. Two years ago, you finally gave in to the awesomeness that is Lance McClain Sanchez. I ate sushi for you!"

"You like sushi."

Lance narrowed his eyes. "Shut your lying mouth." He shook his head. "That's not the point! The point is I love this key and I love what it means and I love you, so the key stays. Forever."

Shaking his head, Keith left to help their friends bring in more boxes. It was their stuff after all, not the team's.

Getting everything moved into their house took a few hours. When their team had been fed and entertained for their services and had finally gone home, Lance and Keith collapsed onto the unmade bed in the master bedroom. The key bounced off Lance's chest and landed on the bed just left of his arm, though its string wouldn't let it go far.

Pale fingers picked the key up and tugged on it gently until Lance looked over at Keith. Keith leaned until he could place one simple kiss on Lance's lips, then he laid back down.

"I like the key," Keith admitted, his cheeks lightly dusted with pink but holding Lance's gaze.

Lance smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

…

…

fin.