My Klance Bible💜

Lube(Smut)

The thing about being in a relationship with another guy is that spontaneous fucking is not a thing. There’s no adrenaline because getting dicked down up against a wall is exhilarating, getting bent over a counter isn’t a thing because no one keeps lube in the kitchen and random public penetration is not possible unless you want the stretch of your ass to be painful instead of pleasureable. Keith knows this. He knows that all the porn he watched when he was thirteen was extremely exaggerated and that no guy can just slide effortlessly into another man’s ass without the help of lube. And, even then, there’s still the slight pain of the stretch.

Plus, Keith’s tried sex without lube. It was not fun. He’ll never, ever, do it again.

Despite how undisputedly true this knowledge is Keith’s mind doesn’t seem to get the fucking memo. He’s tried to convince himself that it’ll just never happen, that he’s never going to be able to train with Lance, have it lead to a heated make out session and then amazing sex on the training room floor. He tried, really, but clearly it didn’t work because here he is, in that very same training room where his little fantasy takes place, and he’s alone. With Lance. He’s alone with Lance and they’re training together.

If someone could get Keith’s heart to shut the fuck up he’d pay them.

He does give himself a little credit, though. It’s pretty hard not to think about sex when Lance is grunting like that, and Keith’s doing a pretty good job of pushing all of the other things they couldbe doing for Lance to make sounds like that to the back of his mind.

They’re sparring. One on one because Lance has absolutely no fucking clue how to use the new sword he’s unlocked with his bayard. Keith is kicking his ass, obviously, but Lance has improved a lot since their last session and Keith is a little distracted with… other things. Like the way Lance’s eyebrows furrow when he’s concentrating. Or the way he throws his whole body into an attack when he’s confident in it. Or how his muscles flex and strain under his flightsuit as he raises his sword to clash against Keith’s own. Yes, his flightsuit, because apparently Keith thought it was a good idea to train without their armor for now. And it was a good idea, but now it’s killing him because those suits leave nothing to the imagination. He basically signed his own death certificate.

Keith’s pulled out of his haze by a particularly large grunt from Lance, and to his surprise Keith is put on defense as Lance raises blow after blow to him, their swords crashing together so frequently that it has Keith backing up. Lance’s face is drawn tight with concentration, his blue eyes dark and narrowed into slits.

And then Keith is cornered. His back slams into the wall and their swords are pressed against one another’s in a test of strength. Keith narrows his eyes. Hot and bothered as he is he isn’t just going to let Lance take a win that easily. He’s pretty, but he’s not that pretty. (He totally is, Keith’s just a sore loser.)

So Keith pushes his back from the wall and uses all of his momentum to push against Lance’s sword. Lance’s face goes slack in surprise, and for a solid zero point two seconds Keith is wildly smug, and then Lance is falling backwards and Keith is falling with him because he couldn’t stop moving fast enough and all of his smugness evaporates into thin air.

Their swords skid with a clatter besides them. Keith had tossed his in a last ditch attempt not to turn Lance into a human shish kabob and Lance had simply lost his grip on the handle when his back slammed against the ground. Keith is splayed awkwardly over Lance, their legs tangled and his arm is crushed between his and Lance’s chest, his other hand gripping Lance’s shoulder as some type of anchor. Lance has both of his arms splayed out like a starfish and his eyes are closed, face scrunched up like he’s in pain.