Chapter Text
“We’re about ready, my gorgeous Minions!” A tall, springy type man bounced on the balls of his feet. In one hand he held a large lensed camera, while in the other he twisted up his bright orange mustache that paired with his bright orange hair. He stood in the midst of a frenzy of techs, makeup artists, and PA’s running about preparing for the photo-shoot. The photographer had a wide smile playing on his face, coming to stand in front of a floor to ceiling white, blue, and red mottled photo-background. “Open the doors and bring me my stars!” He grinned wider, giddy, as the two opposing doors on the sides of the room opened. Two people came from each entrance, quickly making their way over to the background. It was a lanky, Cuban young man who made it first bee lining straight for the photographer.
“Coran!” He spoke happiness filling his voice.
“Lance, my boy, come here,” Coran pulled the younger man into a tight hug, careful not to change his grip on his camera. “I am positively ecstatic to be working with you again!”
“Me too! Although,” Lance pulled away with a slight sneer to his lip, “I wish it were just me and not with that mullet brained-”
“Now, now, we both know that isn’t quiet true. You’re tongue got more than a little slippery that night at my house, when I let you have a bit of Nunvil,” Coran said matter of factly, a twinkle in his eye. Lance shuddered at the memory of both the taste and his blabbering mouth.
“One, I was under the influence, two I’m still not going to enjoy this,” the tanned young man, pouted crossing his arms.
“Ahem,” a clipped British voice came from behind Lance. A mocha skinned woman came up beside the two, her silvery white hair was pulled into an expertly managed bun and her light pink blouse complimented her dark pencil skirt. “We need to move this forward as soon as possible, we have a recording session to attend after this,” she flipped through a leather binder.
“You’re becoming an out right stick in wet earth, you know dear Allura,” Coran teased, giving her a tight side hug to grab her attention. She looked up, her face softening to a light smile.
“All out of necessity, I promise,” Allura turned to speak to the other, “Lance, why don’t you get to know your shoot partner while I talk with Coran for a moment.”
“What do you two have to talk about without me around?”
“Agent-y things, now shoo,” Allura waved a dismissing hand.
“Yes! Go get those creative juices flowing!” Coran called out to Lance as the boy walked toward the background. He walked onto the sheet, to the middle, in front of the standing lights. Lance turned in the direction of his shoot partner and--he assumed--his agent. They stood to the side, speaking quietly to one another. The Cuban studied each of them closely to determine their identities.
From previous knowledge, Lance knew that his shooting partner’s agent was Takashi Shirogane other wise known as “Shiro”. He was the best in the business; Lance had even tried to sign on with him at the start of Lance's career but lost out to Shiro’s younger adopted brother. Not only was Shiro a great agent, he wasn’t hard to look at either. In fact, he was damn gorgeous. The man was tall, his muscles obvious in his normal sung fitted suit, and a demeanor that had girls and boys melting into a puddle of fluffy feels. Although he’d lost his right arm fighting in Afghanistan, it seemed to make him even more irresistible.
Shiro seemed to have caught Lance’s studying eyes because he sent a small smile his way, the scar on his nose crinkling a bit in the gesture. The agent then turned to say something to his client, nodding in Lance’s direction. Within a tick, the other young man came walking up to the middle of the photo-background; stopping when he reached Lance. The Cuban bit the inside of his cheek, heart pumping a little faster. His shoot partner wore dark ripped jeans, combat boots, a white v-neck shirt, and a deep red leather jacket. To top the look off, he had on black finger-less gloves, dark necklace chains hanging from his pale neck, and dark studded earrings.
Lance gulped fidgeting with his wide brimmed white fedora, and glancing down at his own appearance. He wore brown Cuban shoes with a slight heel, cobalt blue suit with the jacket’s sleeves rolled to the elbows, and a pristine white button up shirt. It had the top three buttons undone to show Lance’s smooth tanned skin.
“You must be Lance McClain,” the young man interrupted Lance’s mental check. The Cuban cleared his throat.
“Indeed, which makes you Keith Kogane.” Keith nodded at the assumption, a little awkwardly. “You ready to do this?” Keith rubbed the back of his neck, slightly messing with his dark hair.
“To be completely honest, I’m not sure why we’re even doing this…”
“It’s a shoot for the cover of Voltron magazine...to promote our rivalry and hopefully boost our publicity? Show how in touch we are with our fans…” Lance squinted suspiciously at the young man in front of him.
“I know that,” Keith scowled defensively, “What I don’t understand is where this rivalry came from? We don’t even know each other and no offense, man, but I’ve never even listened to your music.” McClain’s jaw dropped in complete unbelief. As the shock wore away, it was replaced by irritation.
“No puedo creete! Do you live under a rock, hombre?!” ((I can’t believe you)) Lance’s accent and native language slipping through, “Our fans have been rivals since we first started out as musicians! Their rivalry has been the biggest craze in 2016! We broke tumblr for a day and a half with the Purple War; your Koganites vs. my McClaimed followers! None of this is ringing any bells with you?” Keith’s eyebrows raised with every comment, shaking his head in reply to Lance’s rambles. “¡Dios mío! ¡No! No, no no no Allura!” Lance’s accent came full on, speaking at lightning speed. He turned to storm toward his agent, yelling at such a high volume, you’d think she was in the next country over instead of a few feet away. “No puedo trabajar con esto. Este chico es tan estúpido como se pone. ¡No! No voy a hacer esto-” ((I cannot work with this. This guy is as stupid as it gets. No! I will not do this-)) Lance continued to gabber on Keith failing to pick up on any other distinguishing syllables. The rock star watched dumbfounded as the Cuban and his agent became a bit heated, trading spouts of Spanish back and forth.
Shiro came up beside Keith, nudging him with an elbow. “So… I’m guessing what we practiced didn’t go over very well?” Keith shook his head, pursing his lips. The older man sighed in understanding, putting a hand on the younger’s shoulder. See, Keith has had communicating problems ever since Shiro could remember. He has always been subdued and very introverted. The fact that he even opened his mouth to sing to others was a miracle. But when he did it was finally a way he could express himself without stumbling over words. Still, picking up on social cues and nonverbal language-sometimes even verbal language--was extremely difficult for him.
“I just told him the truth, told him how I felt; calmly and rationally.”
“What exactly did you say?” Shiro raised an eyebrow.
“I told him I was confused about the whole rivalry thing, especially because we didn’t know each other; I may have also mentioned that I’d never listened to his music,” Keith’s eyes studied the floor. Shiro about slapped himself in the forehead.
“Geez little brother, did you not listen to those music files I gave you a couple of weeks ago? I told you they were for an important shoot coming up… this one, to be exact,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to form.
“Oh the Latin and indie music? It’s not really my thing. Although I had been meaning to listen to them… I-I’m sorry,” Keith pulled his arms around his chest, hugging himself.
“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll go see if I can straighten-”
“LANCE EDUARDO MCCLAIN!” Allura’s voice echoed throughout the room, the entire group falling silent. In a lower voice she spoke, more evenly, “You are going to get over there and look quiznaking pretty for that camera or so help me, I will disclose everything that your abuela told me about your childhood.”
“Everything?” Lance squeaked. Allura nodded slowly.
“With pictures.” Sending one final dagger filled look to Allura, Lance walked back toward Keith. Shiro slipped away, right after giving Keith a little thumbs up and a whispered, “you go this”.
“Sooo,” Keith began but was quickly cut off. Lance stepped up close into the rock star’s personal bubble, nearly touching his forehead with the other’s. A pink blush dusted Keith's cheeks at the sudden invasion.
“You’re going down, Kogane. By the way, your mullet is stupid,” Lance crossed his arms. Keith was taken aback, but immediately irritation rushed through him, pushing into Lance’s personal space.
“Says the guy wearing heels and hat that hasn’t been cool since my grandpa was in high school. And, by the way, my fans love my hair,” Keith poked a finger at Lance’s chest.
“W-well, I don’t!”
“Good thing I’m not trying to impress you then, douche wad,” Keith sneer gesturing to Lance’s outfit. The Cuban boy sputtered up a reply.
“I’m not trying to impress you either!”
“Good!”
“Good!” The boys spun away from each other, scowls on their faces arms crossed, backs against the others’. Unbeknownst to them, flashes had been going off during their entire escapade.
“Oh perfect, perfect. Well done my stars!” Coran praised as he took shot after shot from different angles. “Now, look at me, give me your best battle face,” the photographer nearly giggled in delight as the two young men before him gave their best fierce, smoldering eyes to the camera. “Oooh we’ll definitely get a cover shot from these. Alright, gorgeous minions! Next bring in the fireworks!”
The two boys suddenly glanced at each other wide eyed, saying in unison, “Fireworks?!”
“Of course,” Coran answered, “Go big or don’t go at all is what I always say. Don’t worry, if anything goes wrong you’ll only receive minor burns.”