The Best Klance Fanfictions

I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor

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by xshieru

On an unusually sweltering May night, Lance McClain decides that he's going to have a threesome.

No, not the sexy kind – though who is he to lie and say that the thought hadn't crossed his mind at least a couple of times – but he knows that he needs to get in there. He wants to earn the right to climb the makeshift stage that's surrounded by the ever-growing crowd of people. Lance really wants to weasel his way in riiiiight between the two men dancing on it. In the front, preferably. Lance would never settle for anything less and the sidelines simply don't suit him.

After all, he's "a drama queen and an attention whore" (Hunk Garrett, Pidge Gunderson, verbal conversation, May 21, 2016). He needs to maintain that title, at least.

"If I had a dollar for every time Shiro wore a sleeveless tight shirt, I'd be a millionaire," Pidge says somewhere to his left, voice barely audible over the deafening pump of the bass suddenly switching the medley to Jason Derulo. If Lance had a dollar for every time that singer popped up in RB's shows –

"If he didn't wear those, then maybe Lance'd finally shut up about wanting to slide across the floor and proposing to him on the spot," Hunk shrugs and takes another bite of some crispy thing that he's devouring ever so slowly, savoring. Lance can tell that he's nervous – his best friend transforms into an all-consuming black hole when he's feeling out of his element.

"Hey, it's not my fault that he looks like an Ancient Greek god, alright? A man has urges!" Lance waves him off, gaze still stuck on the dancers. The crowd nearly yodels when Shiro executes a perfect jump-flip and falls down into that perfect transition of powerful moves, and - wow okay, Lance needs Pidge's water bottle asap.

"Look at him! That can't be normal! He has to be a robot, I swear. No one can execute that wave with such perfection. He's got a robo arm, I'm so calling it!" Conspiracy theories regarding Shiro's inhuman... everything, aside, Lance firmly believes this to be true. Why else does he always wear that black compression sleeve? Suspicious!

Hunk snorts a laugh and pushes the last bite between his crumb-covered lips. "Gay."

"Uh, first of all, not gay but bi!" Lance points one finger in his friend's face. Pidge gives them a flat stare and kicks some guy's shin when he slightly pushes them out of the way. Don't mess with the small and angry ones. "And if you tell me that you've never had hots for Shiro, well, I might as well quit freestyling and sign up for Allura's ballet classes."

"Still pretty gay, dude." Not as gay as Lance feels when Keith does that thing with his hips. Speaking of, "'Kay dudes, if we're continuing the millionaire game – if I had a dollar every time Keith shook his hips like he's Shakira himself, I'd be richer than the entirety of Switzerland."

Lance feels himself drooling a little but quickly wipes at his mouth in a discreet manner. "He's a hoe, but a pretty hoe," he mutters and Pidge - honest to god! - starts laughing at him. It's probably because his ears are an embarrassing shade of maroon. "Look at him! It's like he's riding an invisible dick!" Lance chokes, throwing his arms in Keith's general direction. The guy has the perfect balance and his ankles must be made of steel or some shit because it almost hurts watching him bounce like that despite how entrancing it is. Lance had tried copying this set of moves before. He had pulled a muscle and then proceeded to bitch everyone's ears off about it. Hunk even subjected himself to carrying him from lecture to lecture just to make him stop complaining.

Case in point – do not attempt to ride invisible dick unless you're Keith.

An unspoken "wish he'd ride mine" hangs heavily in the air and clouds the bullshit factory that is Lance's inner world and whatnot.