The Best Klance Fanfictions

Why Bets Are No Longer Allowed In Team Voltron

warning: this is not really a smutty chapter, more like a crack chapter related to smut. i would read it anyways, it's too good not to.

found here:https://archiveofourown.org/works/14203953

why bets are no longer allowed in team voltron

jilliancares

Lance was distracted.

To be fair, they were all pretty distracted, though this was in no way Lance's fault.

Okay - it was partially Lance's fault, but really, it was totally mostly Keith's fault.

Lance cursed as another Galra fighter almost crashed into his side. His thoughts were wandering ridiculously, his attention span sporadic and much shorter than it usually was during battles.

"Can you guys please just make up?" Pidge growled, doing some maneuver that made Voltron karate-chop a hoard of ships out of the sky. They'd formed Voltron a while ago, but the nature of Lance and Keith's distracted thoughts were ebbing into everyone's minds over the mental link.

"We're not fighting!" Keith argued, his voice a low growl over the comm. Oh fuck, Lance hated that voice. And by hated, he meant loved. It sent shivers all the way up and down his spine, and he pressed his ankles and knees and thighs together in an attempt to get himself under control.

"Yeah," Lance agreed hotly. "It's a bet."

"We know what it is," Hunk said, sounded exasperated. It took a lot to get Hunk to that point, which was really saying something.

Shiro then chimed in, the good ol' head of Voltron making his wise input known. "You have to admit it's affecting the team," he said. Alright, not-so-wise input.

"Hear that, Keith?" Lance quipped. "You're affecting the team. Might as well give up already."

"Fuck you, Lance!" Keith growled, and he took out a huge chunk of the Galra fleet by spewing lava from Voltron's arm.

Everyone else groaned, sick of their constant fighting and bickering, and Lance had to (silently) agree. He was honestly exhausted by their bet. He wanted it to be over as much as everyone else did, but they were way too far into this for him to just give in.

So yeah, this was all Keith's fault. Both the reason the bet had even begun in the first place along with the reason it had yet to end.

---

It'd all started nearly three weeks ago, Earth time - side note: holy fuck, had it really been that long? Lance wanted Death. Capital D. Trademarked - when Keith had thought it funny to make a silly little comment. A silly, little, insignificant, world-changing, bet-setting comment.

He'd been on top of Lance at the time, the two of them sweaty and pretty delirious if you're catching Lance's drift, and he'd bent his head down and groaned into Lance's neck. "Fuck."

"That's what I'm saying," Lance had joked, breathless. "Fuck. C'mon, faster."

Keith had rolled his eyes, shaking his head with a grin as he'd picked up the pace, leaning further over Lance and making the both of them gasp at the change in angle. "You're so - hah - fuck, desperate for it."

Lance had laughed, his fingers scrabbling against Keith's back, pulling him in deeper. "Says you," he'd gasped.

"You kidding?" Keith had asked, his eyes aglow with a challenge. God, Lance would never understand how he could so easily form complete sentences in bed. A lot of the times it got to the point where Lance was incoherent, practically babbling nonsense into Keith's ear. "You're the one who can barely go a night without it." He'd punctuated this with a particularly hard thrust at the perfect angle, and Lance had keened.