teasers for current wips

Happy New Year, everyone!

1. newest kiss fic
2. possible s8 fix it (can't decide if i'm gonna finish it or start over)
3. life after death spoilers 

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1.

The desert is little colder this time of year. 

It’s chilly in the morning, the desolate land unable to retain heat through the night, so Keith made sure to put his civilian jacket on before he left the warmth of his room behind to make his way to the restricted access area on the roof of the Garrison. He rests his forearms on the metal railing, stares up at the sherbert clouds overhead, enjoying the near-wintery haze in the air and how it clears his head of all ill-thoughts forced upon him by his restless slumber.

The sound of the door opening behind him shatters the silence, boots scuffling against the roof as he’s approached. He lets out a low breath as a pair of arms wrap snugly around his waist, a face pressing into the hollow between his shoulder blades.

“Why did you leave? You made me look all over the dorms for you,” comes the sleepy voice, adorably disgruntled as the arms hold him tight. After a pause, there’s another complaint, softer and mumbled into the fabric of Keith’s jacket. “It’s cold out here.”

“Couldn’t fall back asleep,” Keith says as he drops his eyes to look at the expanse of red dirt and distant rock outcroppings, broken up by deep grooves in the earth that are the only remnants left of the Galra occupation. As quiet and familiar and stunning as it is, Keith thinks he hates it. “Sorry if I woke you when I left.”

Lance’s head nuzzles into his back. “Just missed you.”

Keith shifts so he can run his ungloved hand over the fleecy sleeve of Lance’s coat tight around his waist. “Sorry.”

“S’okay.” He thinks Lance might drop a kiss there between his shoulder blades. “You okay?”

Keith considers that for a moment and then spins in the circle of those arms. Lance leans away slightly to allow the movement, his hair sticking up every which way, the thin turtleneck under his jacket hanging loose around the delicious curve of his throat, his eyes jeweled in the soft-pink of the sunrise. Sleep still clings to his face, warm and soft and heart-achingly sweet, and the expression he fixes on Keith is both gentle and creased with concerned.

“Mm,” Keith hums in affirmation, slowly taking in the sight before him, slowly appraising and admiring and committing it to memory. He raises a hand and lays it over the curve of Lance’s cheek, brushing his thumb along the crest of his cheekbone. It still feels like a dream sometimes, that Lance looks at him like this. The muted pastel colors of the early morning give the moment a hazy quality and the only thing he’s really sure of is the dark, vibrant blue of Lance’s eyes beneath the cotton-candy clouds.

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2.

"I want to take you to the festival tonight.”

“The--...the festival?” Lance stares at him like he’s just grown two-heads. “Wait, what? You hate parties.”

Keith licks his lips and tries to find the right words to get through to Lance. Maybe the flowers would have helped. “I don’t care for them, no,” he says. “But you do.”

“So...wait, you came all the way back early just to see if I wanted to go to the festival?” Lance asks as Keith crosses over the threshold, still looking confused.

“With me,” Keith clarifies, shutting the door behind him, fondness rushing through him at the way Lance regards him with a furrowed brow. Flowers definitely would have made this a little more clear. He’ll have to remember that next time--he thinks, with lingering affection, that Lance would love that.

“Oh.” Understanding suddenly flickers across Lance’s face and then his voice cracks, eyes wide. “Oh.”

Keith can’t help but be amused by Lance’s speechlessness. “It’s not like we haven’t done things together before,” he reminds him. “This isn’t any different.”

“No?” Lance asks, his voice cracking as he meets Keith’s gaze.

And Keith thinks about all of his intentions towards Lance, the steady, constant hum of his feelings for the other man. He thinks about how he’s always been rather straightforward in his affection once he accepted what he felt and how he is content to take things slow, happy just to be a part of Lance’s life in whatever capacity he wants. He thinks that he’s been obvious in the tone of his voice and the softened edges of his own smile, and he’s sure that Lance knows. As clueless as he can be on occasion, this isn’t one of those things that Lance is totally blind to.

“No,” Keith tells him. “It’s not. Will you go with me?”

“Sure.” Lance crosses his arms over his chest and looks away, his blush growing deeper. “I must be really cool if the Keith Kogane is asking.”

“The coolest,” Keith replies, grinning as his heart swells with joy. He glances around at the empty house, at last noting the quiet atmosphere broken only by birdsong muted through the glass of the windows.

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3. 

Keith sighs out harshly, almost irritated, frustrated, and runs a hand through his hair as he turns a borderline desperate expression on Lance. “I have to tell you something, Lance.”

Lance’s stomach jumps, trying to figure out what the hell can make Keith fix him with a look like that. “What is it?”

There’s no hesitation; Keith almost trips over his words in his haste to get it out. “I almost kissed you.”

Lance blinks. He can taste the anticipation, like a physical memory of something that hasn’t even happened, honeyed and thick on his tongue. Caught, he becomes immovable, vibrating in place as his blood begins to sing at the straightforward admission, electricity surging over his skin without even the promise of a touch. He opens his mouth as if to ask about it, but no sound comes out.

Keith only stares at him, gaze dark and full of utter, crippling sincerity. Honesty has never been so attractive or stolen his breath so effectively. “It was the day I left the team. Long before you died.”

Lance shivers and the entire universe seems to shudder to a devastating stand-still with a lightning-crack of abrupt and searing clarity. There are a million things that make sense now. That goddamn letter, being the first thing that comes to mind. The ache in his chest the very first time he heard Keith’s name. 

Keith’s expression is not soft, even though he is being open. He reaches forward with purpose and takes Lance’s neck with one hand, the heat and weight of his palm very real against his skin. “You would have let me,” Keith says, the words so poignant and full and true that Lance’s knees tremble. “The way you looked at me--”

“Why didn’t you.” It leaves Lance more like a demand than a question, something hot welling up in his chest, too close to frustration to be entirely logical. 

Keith is relentless. “Because I would have stayed.”