The Best Klance Fanfictions

( the worse goddamn angel i've ever met) Part 2 oop-

Lance is SUCH a top. Keith just rad iates bottom energy like wow. i disagree with the roles in this story but ok here we goooooo
once again so sorry, my wattpad is being weirddddd

continue from last word of last chapter oop-

Keith was probably trying to think of what Lance wanted him to say, or what was best for the cameras, but even if those things were true both of his answers had still been really callous.

Was that just Keith being inept at communication, or was that how he really thought of their relationship?

Slav had finally decided on an eyeshadow palette, so Lance let his eyes close and his mind wander as the makeup artist smeared color over his lid. He wondered if it was worth talking to Keith about it. On the one hand, he didn't want to hear that Keith had been insinuating that he wanted more distance between them. On the other hand, from what Lance had seen of Keith so far he didn't look like he got a lot of practice caring for other people's feelings. Lance could be working himself into a tizzy over absolutely nothing. He did that all the time. It was one of the things he was best at.

When he got back to the workroom, still internally debating, he saw Keith was already wearing his outfit and sporting full hair and makeup. Sven had put him in pants that were something between joggers and capris, and had paired it with a sleeveless military-esque top that had a deep hood. It was dark, edgy, and Keith totally embodied its vibes with all the grace and poise of any multi-million dollar model. He seemed clueless to his appeal though, standing patiently in front of Sven's workstation while the designer stitched at something on one of the shoulders, looking.

"Wow," Lance purred, leaning against his own designer's workstation. Slav was in the sewing room hemming his pants, and Lance was one of the few models with hair and makeup but no clothes. He tried not to worry, instead thinking about how he was free to vent his frustration with his dumb, sweet, socially inept crush by nettling said crush when he was unable to run away. "You make that potato sack look good."

Keith shifted, looking at Lance with that expression he got when he wasn't sure how to handle him. "Well, I suppose that was the challenge."

Lance grinned, staring right at Sven as he said, "Well, even if your designer lands on the bottom, you'll know it wasn't your fault. Only Sven's."

Sven looked up and gave Lance an equally aggressive grin, "Hey, I'd like to think it was at least partially my talent. Don't get ahead of yourself."

"No, Lance isn't getting ahead himself," cut in the beachy blonde model from their first day, "He's just speaking the truth!"

"I almost chose him, you know," another designer added, "He just looked so angry I was worried he didn't want to be chosen by me."

Another model currently being stitched into a pair of shorts spoke up, "Yeah, Sven was lucky he had the balls to pick Keith. He's got such an intimidating aura, but once you get past his glare he's pretty enough he makes anything immediately look edgy and high fashion. It's that pseudo-asian aesthetic."

"Pseudo-asian?" Lance cut in. "I'll have you know Keith is real asian."

Keith, listening to the conversation, mumbled, "My parents are from Texas."

"I don't care if he's real or fake," a third model replied, "He's the most striking model in this room and that's all that matters."

Keith remained relatively quiet during the exchange between the models, at a loss for words. He had been prepared for Lance to turn his comment on Keith's looks into a joke. Land the pick up line, make a witty remark at Keith's expense, something to make it clear that Lance was just complimenting him because he wanted to flirt, not that he actually thought Keith was bringing something extra to the clothes with his modelling.