klancepride with cal

day 19- fairytale

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"You look wonderful, my darling," Madam Garderobe gushed as Lance examined himself in front of the mirror. He was dressed in a stunning off-the-shoulder dress, his decolletage on display and shimmering with highlight. The material was warm yellow chiffon with accents of gold, tightly fitted to his ribs before pluming out into a gorgeous layered skirt. 

Lance's hands fluttered lightly over the material, his heart racing. "I've never worn something so lovely," he murmured, turning to Madam Garderobe with a smile. "Thank you so much." The truth was that he'd never even worn a dress before, but somehow, the material swishing around his legs, the flowy nature of the fabric, it felt perfect. 

"You needn't thank me, love. Now, go! You have a beast to dance with."

Lance waved goodbye to the furniture in his room, inhaling deeply before stepping out of his room and down the grand staircase to the landing. He looked up and saw the Beast (Lance shook his head internally- he'd found a family album buried in the back of the library under a pile of other books that had addressed the Beast as Prince Keith. Lance much preferred calling the Beast by his real name rather than, well, the Beast.) descending the stairs opposite, dressed in his finest as well in a long, royal blue coat over a matching vest and a white shirt. 

Upon drawing closer, Lance noticed that the gold detailing on Keith's coat was identical to that on his dress and he wondered if Madame Garderobe had designed them to match on purpose. Keith met Lance on the landing and Lance noticed how groomed he looked, his hair brushed (that was a first) and pushed out of his eyes and his lilac fur had been trimmed back a bit. He looked handsome, but that was something Lance had already thought. 

Keith offered Lance his arm and Lance accepted, looping his own around Keith's elbow before stepping in sync with Keith down the stairs to the foyer. Mrs. Potts and Chip watched from a tea tray, Chip giggling as Lance waved to them furtively. 

In the ballroom, Lumiere and Cogsworth sat atop Cadenza, who, on Lumiere's count, began playing a sweet and romantic waltz. It filled the empty ballroom with light music and instantly lifted Lance's spirit. He turned to face Keith and, since he was in a dress, after all, sank into a deep curtsy, straightening as Keith dipped his head in a bow. 

And then, the dance began. Keith's hand slid around Lance's waist and he pulled him closer, Lance's hand to Keith's shoulder, their free palms meeting, fingers intertwined. Lance felt weightless in Keith's arms, his breath pulled from his lungs as Keith spun him around and around, his feet barely touching the ground before the Beast had whisked him off his feet again, his strong arm gently lifting around his waist, pulling Lance close to his chest. 

Lance was lost in Keith's dark eyes and they were the one thing tethering him to the spot, to balance, to the world. They never broke contact and Lance was surprised he could still dance without even looking where he was going. Keith knew this room by heart- he led Lance round and round in the gently, whirling waltz, confident in every step like never before. 

Cadenza played on and on and on, the melody washing over the pair like waves upon sand, like breeze on your skin in a hot afternoon, like water down your throat after you've been parched. It was a wistful, beautiful and melancholic song that Cadenza knew every note to, that played and kept playing. 

Keith leaned down mid-twirl and whispered in Lance's ear. "You look lovely. More than lovely. Stunning."

Lance blushed, looking anywhere else than Keith's bold, dark, unreadable eyes but eventually coming back to meet them because he knew he couldn't resist them. 

"So do you," he insisted in a whisper, shushing Keith when the beast tried to protest. Lance closed his eyes, trusting his feet, and laid his head upon Keith's chest, the soft lavender fur that covered Keith gentle and warm on Lance's skin. 

It was nothing like what he'd imagined. It was nothing short of perfect.