The Devil doesn't come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you've ever wished for.

- Tucker Max

.x.

When Lance had left his room to look for something to pass the time, he didn't have green food goo in mind. But an hour later found him in the midst of an impromptu session of Master Chef: Alien Gourmet. Pidge had goo in her hair from when she'd tried to put together a makeshift mixer and Hunk was currently shoving his goo into the oven when it was obvious that it didn't want to be thus confined. Lance would've paused to question Hunk's tactics if not for the timer that was ticking away on the counter.

Were they making a mess? Yup. Was the food they were preparing at least partially sentient? Lance would like to think not. Would everything be edible once the timer rang? Who knew?

But what Lance did know for certain was that he hadn't had this much fun in weeks.

"Hey! Give that back! It's not your turn yet!"

"Not a chance," Lance grinned as he held the spoon high above Pidge's straining arms. He turned away and grabbed his bowl, mixing his winning dish as he walked around the room with Pidge in tow. "Time's a-wastin and I'm pretty sure you've mixed that soup to death."

Pidge looked about ready to jump him, literally (wouldn't be the first time, the little gremlin almost knocked him over the last time she tried to climb him like a tree to get the remote), but her shoulders sagged as she glanced at the timer. She raised a finger in warning.

"Heed my words, McClain. Vengeance shall be mine!"

Lance shrugged as he set his bowl back down on the counter at a safe distance from Pidge. "Yeah yeah, I hear ya," he waved her words away, turning to focus on his dish. He paused to sniff the air as he caught scent of…

"Is it just me, or is something burning?"

Pidge swore and finally returned to her soup, which was indeed covered in a cloud of smoke. Hunk, whose food was proudly set on the table for inspection (was that a cake?!), rushed towards Pidge with giant orange oven mitts and grabbed the pot. He quickly dumped the smoking container in the sink and turned on the faucet. The steam wasn't thick enough to hide Pidge's pout.

"This is all your fault!" Pidge called over her shoulder as Hunk helped her estimate the damage. "If you hadn't distracted me…!"

"All's fair in love and war!" Lance sung as he sprinkled some of the cinnamon-tasting powder Hunk had gotten at what had looked to be a farmers' market on the last planet they visited. "You gotta keep your eyes on the prize!"

Pidge crossed her arms and grumbled something under her breath, but appeared somewhat appeased when Hunk patted her shoulder.

"For what it's worth, I don't think it's ruined. Maybe a little smoky but hey! There are plenty of things that taste smoky! You've got smoked salmon, smoked chicken, smoked corn, smoked beef—"

"I get it, I get it," Pidge rolled her eyes and pulled away from Hunk's touch. "I've never heard of smoked soup though," she added, a little miserably.

Lance watched as Hunk's eyes widened and did his best to bite back a sinister smirk. Hunk was going to go on a tangent, and thus bought him just enough time to perfect his…oatmeal? That's what he'd been aiming for, but no matter what he did, it was still green and who wanted to eat green porridge?

…then again, practically everything they've eaten on this ship was green. Maybe it wasn't that big of a deterrent as he'd thought.

"-and don't get me started on smoked potato soup! My grandma used to make the best-"

Lance hummed as he continued his work, Hunk's voice in the background serving as a familiar background noise for his concentration. They'd worked like this back at the garrison, too. Lance needed silence to fall asleep, but he needed noise to focus when he studied. With Hunk being the kind of guy who needed to read the material out loud to memorize it, they made the perfect study buddies.

As Lance liked to say, they were meant to be.

Only the sound of the timer's alarm going off was able to derail Hunk's story of Sunday night dinners with his family. Pidge looked slightly relieved as she reached out for the timer to turn off the irritating noise. Rushing, Lance was able to give his oatmeal a final stir before his friends' eyes were on him, looking at him expectantly.

"Time's up, Lance," Pidge announced cheerfully as she gestured towards the table. "You know what to do."

Lance saluted her and picked up his dish, carrying and settling it down next to Hunk's cake. He joined him at the table and they both watched Pidge ladle some of the burnt soup into a bowl with the same intensity she used to crack codes. The proud smile she wore as she placed the bowl down on the table without spilling a drop gave Lance an inexplicable warm feeling in his chest.

He might not be home with his family, but being with his team was a damn close second. Now wasn't the time to be sentimental, though- he had a contest to win.

"So, uh, who's gonna be the judge?" Lance turned to Hunk, as he'd been the one to come up with the idea. Hunk offered the two of them a guilty smile.

"I…sort of didn't plan that far? I kinda just wanted to cook with you guys…"

Pidge looked a little exasperated, but quickly perked up when she looked at the doorway. "I think I hear someone coming!"

They all watched the doorway and sure enough, someone was coming closer. Lance wondered if it was Shiro, heading to the kitchen for a light snack. Or maybe Coran? Lance would definitely put his money on Coran. The man was constantly doing his rounds, making sure that everything was running smoothly. In fact, he was starting to hope it was. Coran always did have a warm spot for him.

…at least, that's what he'd say when he'd specifically single Lance out to help with the maintenance of the castle.

Their potential judge had finally passed by the doorway and all Lance needed was to see the flash of red to know that he was screwed.

"Keith! Come over here for a sec!"

Oh, no.

Of course.

It figured that out of all the rest of the people on the ship, Keith, his long-time rival would be the one to walk by.

Keith paused when he heard his name and turned around to face the group. His brows rose at the mess in the kitchen but refrained from commenting as he walked in.

"What's up?"

"Nothing!" Lance said quickly, waving him away. "Nothing to see here! You can go back to punching gladiators to your heart's content!"

"We're doing Master Chef!" Pidge explained, ignoring Lance's huff and appeasing Keith's obvious confusion. She gestured towards the table behind them, providing a visual aid.

Keith blinked. "Master Chef…?"

"You know, the cooking show? Where people compete to see who the best cook is? Ring any bells?" Hunk elaborated, his concern at Keith's apparent lack of knowledge of one of his favorite t.v shows showing.

Keith shook his head, face blank.

"See? He doesn't even know the show! We're probably just annoying him, anyway. Let him go back to whatever he was doing and we'll find a different judge to—"

"I don't mind," Keith cut him off, their eyes briefly meeting before Lance quickly looked away. "I can be the judge if you guys want. I just have to taste everything and decide what I like best, right?"

"You got it!" Hunk said loudly before Lance could protest any further. Grumbling, Lance stepped back and allowed Keith to approach the table, his lips pressed tightly in a thin line and his eyes following Keith's movements like a hawk.

He didn't need to wait and hear what Keith thought of every dish to know who would win. The contest was really a formality- anyone with eyes (and a mouth) could see that Hunk was the winner. But to be told by Keith that he'd lost…it irked Lance to his very core.

Keith tasted Pidge's burnt soup first, wrinkling his nose before coughing and turning to Pidge with an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, Pidge, but I think you should stick to tech."

Lance expected to see some dejection as Pidge had worked hard on that soup, but she simply shrugged. "I mean, you're not wrong."

Moving on to the next dish, Keith took a bite of Hunk's cake with visibly less hesitation than he'd tasted the soup. And in a (not) shocking turn of events he smiled and took another bite.

"This is really good," Keith turned to Hunk and wiped the crumbs off his chin with the back of his hand. Lance's eyes followed the movement and inevitably zeroed on Keith's mouth, where a lone crumb still lingered just above his upper lip.

Lance was somewhat of an expert when it came to Keith's lips. Not that he'd ever touched them (and why would he?) but he'd spent his fair share of time studying the delicate bows.

It didn't take a genius to tell that a person was upset when they frowned. What Lance would like to think he'd done was master the full scale of Keith's frowns- which, honestly, was his expression 90% of the time.

There was Keith's contemplative frown. His focused frown. His confused frown. His angry frown. Sometimes, if Lance was lucky, he'd see that frown turn into a sad pout. It didn't happen often, but when it did, it gave Lance the green light to try and approach his teammate and talk it out. He tried to stay away when Keith was still angry, though, as the guy tended to lash out and…Lance wasn't a fan of being caught in the crossfire.

Playful fighting? He lived for it, tried to one-up Keith whenever he could. But once it came to real anger, Lance fumbled. There was a time and place for everything and even he acknowledged that anger was needed at times, but…

Just because it was necessary didn't mean that he had to like it. When he'd been home or at the garrison Lance would usually go to bed when he was emotionally drained after a fight. Now that he had Blue he couldn't imagine recovering anywhere else.

Or, well, he had Blue. He hadn't gotten to that point with Red yet.

Watching Keith and studying his emotions wasn't creepy at all. Nope. Lance was simply learning to watch for their new leader's mood swings and act accordingly. If he was to be Keith's right hand, he had to know to read and anticipate his thoughts and needs and help him convey them to the rest of the team.

The fact that Keith was easy on the eyes had nothing to do with his furtive observations.

"…Lance?"

Lance blinked, snapping back into focus. Pidge, Keith and Hunk were all looking at him expectantly. There was a spark of knowing in Hunk and Pidge's gazes that made Lance want to squirm and met Keith's eyes instead. Once he realized what he was seeing, Lance's stomach twisted in a nervous knot.

Keith had moved on to his dish and was holding an empty spoon in the air. There was a faint smile on his lips that simply didn't belong because why on earth would he be smiling at the prospect of tasting something Lance had made?

"Uh, sorry, I blanked out for a moment. What did you say?"

Keith raised a brow, dipped the spoon in the pot and raised it slowly to his mouth, a careful hand hovering beneath it to catch any spillage.

"I said that I didn't know you could cook. I really like this," Keith added, pausing to swallow his spoonful. "What is it?"

Lance narrowed his eyes and folded his arms against his chest uncertainly. What was Keith playing at?

"It's oatmeal. At least, that's what it's supposed to taste like."

Keith licked his lips. Lance immediately noticed that the crumb from Hunk's cake was gone.

"The consistency is different, but I can taste the similarity. I always made mine from an instant mix," Keith's smile was a bit sheepish. "I did try to add a dash of cinnamon to feel like I did more than add boiling water, though. I think I can taste it in yours?"

Lance shrugged. "Hunk found some alien powder that tastes like it on that last planet we liberated."

Keith nodded sagely and set the spoon down on the table. He turned around to face the three contestants, clearing his throat.

"Time to announce the winner! Pidge, I—"

"Don't even bother," Pidge waved him away.

"…alright then," Keith continued. He turned to the two remaining contestants. Lance made an effort not to shy away from his gaze when it fell on him.

"Lance, Hunk," Keith addressed them in his Leader voice and Lance couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine. It didn't hold the same authority that Shiro's did, but damn did it come close.

"It was a difficult choice, but the winner of…er, Master Cook?"

"Master Chef, you hermit," Pidge corrected from the sidelines.

"Right. Anyway, the winner is Hunk. Not only did your cake taste like cake, it felt like one, too. Congratulations."

Hunk beamed and Lance wrapped his arm around his friend's neck, grinning and teasing. They all knew their resident foodie would win but watching Hunk being rewarded for something he was good at was simply heartwarming. The guy knew that he was good with food and rightfully took pride in it. That didn't stop him from getting a little flustered when being acknowledged, though.

Lance wondered for a moment if there was something he was clearly good at, too. Nothing came to mind.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts and he turned his face to see Keith at his side. He was frowning again.

Nervous frown, Lance's mind immediately categorized.

"Lance, I…I really liked your oatmeal," he said haltingly. "Could you maybe make it again? Like for breakfast or something?"

Lance's eyes widened a fraction before his mouth spread in a big smile.

"Sure thing, Mullet! Can't say no to a fan!"

Keith's hand dropped from Lance's shoulder as if burned and he stepped back with a scowl. "Thanks," he mumbled and quickly turned away, but not before Lance noticed the red in his cheeks.

Perplexed, Lance silently watched Keith leave the room. Once he was gone Lance turned back to his friends to share a questioning look.

The expressions Hunk and Pidge wore were anything but uncertain.

Lance unwound his arm from around Hunk's shoulder and took a wary step back. "What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Oh, no reason," Hunk said cheerfully.

"Yeah," Pidge chipped in, "it's not like we're waiting for you to make the next move or anything."

"Next move?" Lance repeated. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Hunk rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Lance. It doesn't take a genius to see that you've been tiptoeing around each other for months."

"…huh?"

"Keith likes you," Pidge clarified. "And you like him."

Lance's face heated up.

"What! No way! Keith doesn't fucking 'like' me, and I sure as hell don't—ow!"

Pidge gave him a bored look as she stepped back from flicking his nose. "Thou shalt not lie. Do you really think we haven't noticed the way you stare at him all the time?"

"That's paraphrasing," Lance grumbled. "And I don't stare! I just need more time to figure him out since the guy doesn't like to use his words."

Hunk shook his head. "It's not only you, y'know. He's been looking at you a lot lately, too."

Lance sucked in a sharp breath.

"…really?" He asked in a small voice.

"Really," Hunk confirmed, smile warm.

Lance continued to turn his friends' words in his head as he situated himself on his pillows a few hours later. He'd seen Keith at dinner and aside from giving him an odd look when he sat down, the red paladin more or less ignored him for the rest of the meal. It was a little difficult to believe that Keith held any kind of torch for him when he didn't even look in his direction.

Maybe he'd expected Lance to be the initiator (talking was more of his forte, after all). Or maybe he was worn out after his afternoon training session with Shiro.

Or maybe he really didn't like him that way and his friends' perception wasn't worth shit when it came to humans.

Lance groaned and flipped over, burying his face in the pillow. He didn't need to figure this out now. Hell, he probably needed to think about how he felt for Keith. Sure, the guy was attractive, but did he want to be with him?

He should sort out his own feelings before figuring out Keith's. Or maybe he should understand Keith's before opening himself to the possibility of heartbreak.

Either way, Lance had time. It wasn't like either of them was going anywhere. Keith would always be just a hallway away. They'll have to confront each other eventually.

But for now…

Well, Lance wasn't going to forgo his beauty sleep for any pretty boy.

.x.

Maybe the headphones and sleeping mask had been a mistake.

Lance hadn't worn both to sleep in a very long time. When the team had first arrived in the Castle of Lions, Lance had learned the hard way that cutting his senses off during sleep was the wrong thing to do. Sure, it helped him relax and drift off, but he'd never forget that severely disappointed look Shiro gave him when he'd arrived late for yet another surprise drill. That was when they were still learning how to work together as a team and Lance vividly remembered the bitter taste in his mouth at the knowledge that he'd been the one who ruined the drill for everyone. They hadn't known each other very well at the time, but Shiro was Lance's hero (still was, if he were honest with himself) and to have him look so irritated with him…

Lance had vowed never to warrant such a look again from his leader.

Months and months had passed since that moment and Lance would be the first to admit that he hadn't lived up to the promise he made to himself. But you know what? That was okay. Nobody was perfect, not even Shiro. Lance did his best and most of the time it was enough. He preferred not to dwell on the times when it wasn't.

He refused to sabotage himself like he'd done in the beginning, though, and while it initially had cost him a few sleepless nights, Lance had trained himself to sleep with only his sleeping mask on. The lack of noise still disturbed him (what kind of heathen fell asleep without music?) but he knew better than to risk not hearing the alarm go off. They didn't need drills as frequently as they used to- reality kept them on their toes.

Only that the war hadn't come to knock on their door in the last couple of days and Lance had decided to treat himself to a restful night after the realization that there might be something between him and Keith. His mother had always been fond of telling him to 'sleep on it' when he had to make important decisions and Lance sure was in need of a good night's sleep (wasn't he always?). What harm would there be in indulging for a few hours of complete darkness and calming, classical music?

…

Lance knew he'd fucked up when he felt something being stuffed into his mouth. He woke up with a start and tried to sit up, only to be held down by something heavy pinning his arms and to the bed. His mind reeled, wondering if this was some kind of simulation. God, he sure hoped so. If he got out of this alive, he'd never steal Pidge's headphones again!

The calming piano music mocked him as he struggled, testing the limits of his confinement. It was definitely a person holding him down- maybe even two. Maybe they were stronger than him, but he'd make sure to make it as difficult as possible to hold him down!

Pressure was starting to be applied to his legs and Lance acted quickly before he'd lose his chance. He bent his knee sharply and hit a solid mass. His resistance loosened the grip on his arms and Lance yanked himself away, rolling off the bed and onto the ground. He yanked the headphones off upon impact (fuck, that hurt) and tore his sleeping mask off, quickly rising to his knees.

What he saw made him break out in cold sweat.

One of Lotor's soldiers they'd fought while trying to recapture the comet was standing in front of him. She had pale blue skin and a darker shade of short, blue hair. Lance would've found her attractive if the memory of her kicking him in the gut didn't haunt him. That and, well, the fact that she was carrying a syringe full of clear liquid.

Lance had a feeling it was meant for him.

"Impressive," the alien said mildly as she looked Lance over and took a step forward. "But futile. Your resistance is pointless, blue paladin."

Lance desperately felt around the floor, groping blindly in the dark for his bayard. He wasn't stupid- his weapon was his only chance. He was more or less helpless without it. He wasn't some Keith or Shiro who fought close range and could knock a person out with a single punch. Lance was a long-range fighter. With his enemy so close and his bayard out of sight…

The only thing left was to scream and hope that his teammates would hear him.

Lance opened his mouth and tried to spit out the foreign object (it felt like some kind of ball) that had been shoved down his throat, but the more he tried, the larger it got. Lance choked, gagging and glaring up at the alien with wet eyes as she hovered above him.

"Now stay still and I won't have to- hey!"

Maybe he couldn't scream or fight, but Lance was light on his feet. He rolled on the floor and started to reach for the hand-scanner next to his door when he was shoved down. His head hit the floor with a sharp thud and Lance gasped, momentarily dazed as his arms were grabbed and held behind his back. When he snapped back into focus he could feel a weight on his lower back keeping him down. It felt as if someone was sitting on him, but that couldn't be, could it? He'd only seen that scary alien chick with the syringe and there she was, standing next to him.

"Good job, Ezor," the alien spoke, but Lance didn't know who she was addressing. The weight on his back shifted, and Lance made a wild guess that some invisible creature was straddling him.

"You know I wouldn't have let him get away, Acxa," a disembodied female voice said happily. Lance tried to shake her off but instead had his head yanked back. He grit his teeth and met the eyes of the alien with the syringe (Acxa? What kind of name was that?). She didn't look too pleased.

"Now hold still or this is going to hurt."

Lance wasn't really given much of an option. The alien on his back held his head in a death-grip as Acxa lowered herself to her knees and slowly inserted the needle into Lance's neck.

Tears pricked his eyes but Lance refused to let his assailants see him cry. He bit his lip and held still, not wanting to disturb the needle once it was in his body. The last thing he needed was a broken alien needle piercing an artery.

The needle was removed after a few moments and Lance's shoulders slumped, his fear getting the best of him as his body started to shake. For all he knew, he'd been injected with a lethal poison. Or maybe he was part of some terrible experiment. The mental image of his friends finding his lifeless body on the floor in the morning made his stomach churn dangerously.

Lance's pulse quickened as he realized that it was becoming harder to breathe. His vision swam and his breath came in slow, labored pants. The world was going out of focus and he'd never been so scared.

Being held down and poisoned by two alien chicks is definitely not as sexy as it sounds.

The absurd thought popped into Lance's mind as the world grew dimmer and he laughed, the sound vibrating weakly in his throat and never quite making it past his lips. The ball in his throat slid even deeper and the last thing Lance could remember doing before blacking out was trying not to choke on it.