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“Please don’t make this gay,” Keith muttered, scrubbing at a dish lined with salsa stains.

“I literally just turned on the radio. That doesn’t make this gay.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance and said nothing, instead motioning to the song with his head. It was oldies. Definitely oldies, and not the type that Keith listened to. No, this song was a Footloose, West Side Story, Sixteen Candles sort of cringe. The kind that turned into memes.

“It’s good though!” Lance proclaimed, and he began to move his legs to the beat.

Keith groaned. “No, no way. Don’t dance, that makes it worse, that’s what makes it gay--” He paused, listening to the song for a moment. “Shit, is this Abba?”

Lance didn’t say anything, instead rolling his hips in his slow travel towards Keith.

“No, no don’t do it--”

In one swift motion Keith’s hands were in Lance’s, and Keith was pulled from the sink.

“I’ve been cheated by you since I don’t know when--”

“Lance, don’t sing, that’s weird.”

It seemed that Lance didn’t care about what Keith thought. He gripped onto Keith’s soapy hands anyway, tugging on his arms towards the center of the kitchen.

Keith tried his hardest to stand as still as possible. He refused to dance, there was no way in the world he would ever do such a thing. Dancing? With Lance? Especially in Lance’s kitchen, listening to Lance’s radio, Lance’s Abba, Lance’s house, Lance. Dancing with Lance. No way, not in a million years--

Lance can dance?

“You can dance?”

He blurted it out suddenly, and his tone made it sound like both a question and a compliment. He was mentally banging his head against a wall, because no matter how badly he hated Lance Sanchez, the guy kept making Keith rethink. And this moment was one of those rare times when Keith looked at Lance, and for a moment he wondered.

Lance squeezed their palms, a smirk at his lips. “I may be an awkward, clumsy, annoying piece of shit on the outside, but I’ve got some skills up my sleeve.”

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have I told you guys how much I love this fic?

Description
“Please don’t make this gay,” Keith muttered, scrubbing at a dish lined with salsa stains.

“I literally just turned on the radio. That doesn’t make this gay.”

Keith raised an eyebrow at Lance and said nothing, instead motioning to the song with his head. It was oldies. Definitely oldies, and not the type that Keith listened to. No, this song was a Footloose, West Side Story, Sixteen Candles sort of cringe. The kind that turned into memes.

“It’s good though!” Lance proclaimed, and he began to move his legs to the beat.

Keith groaned. “No, no way. Don’t dance, that makes it worse, that’s what makes it gay--” He paused, listening to the song for a moment. “Shit, is this Abba?”

Lance didn’t say anything, instead rolling his hips in his slow travel towards Keith.

“No, no don’t do it--”

In one swift motion Keith’s hands were in Lance’s, and Keith was pulled from the sink.

“I’ve been cheated by you since I don’t know when--”

“Lance, don’t sing, that’s weird.”

It seemed that Lance didn’t care about what Keith thought. He gripped onto Keith’s soapy hands anyway, tugging on his arms towards the center of the kitchen.

Keith tried his hardest to stand as still as possible. He refused to dance, there was no way in the world he would ever do such a thing. Dancing? With Lance? Especially in Lance’s kitchen, listening to Lance’s radio, Lance’s Abba, Lance’s house, Lance. Dancing with Lance. No way, not in a million years--

Lance can dance?

“You can dance?”

He blurted it out suddenly, and his tone made it sound like both a question and a compliment. He was mentally banging his head against a wall, because no matter how badly he hated Lance Sanchez, the guy kept making Keith rethink. And this moment was one of those rare times when Keith looked at Lance, and for a moment he wondered.

Lance squeezed their palms, a smirk at his lips. “I may be an awkward, clumsy, annoying piece of shit on the outside, but I’ve got some skills up my sleeve.”

------

have I told you guys how much I love this fic?