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Keith knocked on the heavy metal door and watched as a tiny slit near the top slid open. A pair of eyes peered out at him, narrowing as they took in his ratty old suit, the trilby hat he’d borrowed from his Captain, and the cheap chain tucked into his breast pocket masquerading as a pocket watch. His disguise didn’t have to be perfect, it just had to get him inside.
"Whatchu wan?” The bouncer asked, his heavy Scots accent making Keith stare in confused silence. "Ah cannae let ye in if yer nae aff tae answer, son."
Keith continued to stare blankly, he was pretty sure he’d heard the word ‘answer’, so he spat out the password he’d been given. “Uhhh,” he eloquently stated, lowering his voice to avoid being overheard, “ Piccadilly .”
The bouncer held his eyes for a moment then shut the tiny window. Just as Keith was mentally preparing himself to face his Captain with yet another failure, the heavy door opened.
“Cannae be tae careful these days, aye?" The bouncer said with a crooked smile and Keith smiled back, almost feeling bad for what he was about to do.
He walked out of Captain Shirogane’s office with a strange feeling of accomplishment and regret, the proud pat-on-the-back still freshly warming his shoulder and simultaneously weighing him down. It felt good to do his job, to stop the good-for-nothing bootleggers from peddling their moonshine. But most of the people in these establishments were just blue-collar joes, regular ol’ guys who could use a good stiff drink after a long day; something to help them forget about their stress and cope with the backbreaking demands of life. Keith understood that feeling.
It was the big dogs, the fat cats, that needed to be taken down. But no one could lay a finger on them. Zarkon and his mob had their claws buried deep in the city, even Captain Shirogane was bound by orders from higher up to leave Galra-owned gin joints alone. So it was with a heavy heart that Keith took down the hardworking backbone of their community. Shutting down their watering holes, and enforcing the prohibition laws because, after all, laws were laws and breaking those laws came with consequences.
Unless you were Zarkon, or a member of his Galra.
Keith sighed, the new spot he’d been sent to investigate was parading as a private dance and music school. And maybe it really was , but that’s what Keith was meant to find out. He walked up and opened the front doors, the late afternoon sun reflecting off the stained-glass windows.
Just like every private venue with something to hide, someone immediately descended upon him. “Hey, fella, we’re invite-only. Got a card?” the kind voice said. Keith nodded, patting down the breast pocket of his suit and producing a dirty business card, blank aside from the hand-drawn moustache in the center.
“Ducky! Come on in!” the guy said, leading Keith through the studio. “Tonight’s performance is by the princess of Jazz herself, Allura!” he nodded toward the stage at the far end of the room. It stood empty at the moment, but Keith could tell it was the focal point of the entire joint.
This room was by far the largest in the building and clearly meant to be the performance hall of the small school. He’d heard of the Altea Academy of Performing Arts before, but never dreamed he’d be inside. If he wasn’t an undercover prohibition agent, he’d never be able to afford a seat here.
Sadly, he wasn’t really going to be watching the performance. Instead, he’d be in the secret backroom drinking illegal giggle water smuggled in by bootleggers who likely worked for one of the local mobs.
They reached a stock room, making their way to the very back, behind a shelf of toilet paper where the big guy gave three distinct knocks with the back of his knuckles. Keith took a mental note.
A knock sounded on the other side and the big guy leaned closer to the wood, speaking clearly as he said what Keith suspected contained a secret password, “we’re restocking the Nunvil .”
Sure enough, the wooden panel opened up, allowing them access to a hidden bar.
At first glance, the joint seemed on the up-and-up, perhaps just a private gentleman’s club and certainly not a speakeasy. But, as Keith looked closer, he saw the telltale signs of drunkenness and an alcohol-fueled environment.
There were booths lining the walls, sitting tables scattered throughout the room, and a large open area for dancing at the foot of a stage. The stage itself was raised about two feet off the ground with a second platform at the back that held a drum set and chairs for various other musicians. An upright piano stood off to the far right side, beside the steps.
The bar area, which Keith could now clearly see as they entered the room, was perfectly polished. Glittering glasses of all shapes and sizes hung from brass racks above the patron’s heads. The barkeep was facing away from them, standing before a towering wall of bottles scrubbing a rag inside a beer stein. A few people sat at the bar, drinking and smoking and chatting merrily with one another, while others yet were seated in booths snuggling closer as more and more empty glasses lined their tables.
Keith made his way over to the bar and took a seat at one of the empty stools at the far end. The big guy who’d escorted him in left after helping snag the bartender’s attention, leaving Keith face to face with the brightest smile he’d ever seen.
The cheerful young man looked up as Keith squirmed in his seat, his entire face bursting with sunshine as he smiled broadly across the bartop. “Hey there, handsome, what’ll ya be having?” he shamelessly flirted, causing Keith to blush. Glancing nervously to the sides, he noted that no one seemed to care that this gorgeous young man was draped over the bar, leaning much too close to be considered polite. Keith blushed some more and the perfectly tanned bartender’s smile turned ‘knowing’ as he threw Keith a wink.
“No one here cares, that’s the beauty of a safe space,” he explained, “ all types of people are welcome. So,” he walked his fingers along the bar top, inching them closer to Keith’s and gently uncurling his tight fist, releasing the tension, “what’ll ya be having?”
“Surprise me,” Keith replied and watched as the bartender’s pretty blue eyes snapped back to his, lighting up instantly.
“I have just the thing!” he exclaimed, spinning around and excitedly pouring bottle after bottle into a shaker. Keith watched with rapt attention. He removed his hand from the bartop, placing it down in his lap and pointedly ignored the tingling across his palm where the other man’s fingers had grazed. He could feel his cheeks darkening at the sensation, but they were likely already dark enough that no one would notice. He hoped.
The next thing Keith knew, a tall, curvy glass with a wide rim covered in a fine crystalized sugar and filled near to the brim with a sparkling pink liquid was placed in front of him. “What’s this?” he asked, wary of the strange drink.
“It’s called a cocktail!” the bartender replied, smiling nervously as Keith stared at the glass and its strange contents.
One look at the nervous anticipation in those beautiful blue eyes had Keith sighing with a resigned weight, not wanting to disappoint him. He lifted the glass by the curvy stem and brought it to his lips. The first sip tinkled in his mouth, catching him off guard. It was sweet and tingly and fruity all at once. It was unlike anything he’d ever tried before. It was absolutely spectacular!
His face must have reflected what his taste buds had experienced. The moment Keith opened his eyes, he saw the blinding smile radiating from across the bartop. “Good?” the handsome bartender asked, a cocky sureness lurking in his voice.
“Not bad,” Keith replied, earning a huff. He quickly lifted the glass for another sip to hide the amused smile he couldn’t hold back. The bartender rolled his eyes and smirked back.
“Oh, is that a challenge?” he teased. “Guess I better up my game if I’m going to impress a real handsome cat such as yourself.” Before Keith could respond, he skipped off down the bar to serve another patron with a light smile and a wink over his shoulder leaving Keith blushing and coughing into his glass.
After a few more tingly sips he decided that he did, in fact, enjoy this ‘cocktail’ as the bartender had called it. Before the start of prohibition and becoming a federal agent, Keith had stolen sips of whiskey from his caretakers at the orphanage. It had always left him feeling jazzed, much like he was starting to feel now. It had been so long since Keith had touched alcohol that he hadn’t even noticed the settling buzz until he rose to hit the John, leaving several more than that initial empty glass behind. Only then did he see the rich wood flooring sway beneath his gaze, feel the rise of the barstool from the ground, and realize the heaviness of his own head.
His lips felt numb beneath his tongue as he licked them, his head lolled on his shoulder as he turned it, and his vision twisted and turned before him as he crossed the much busier establishment. More and more people had filtered in, filling the space with chatting groups and dancing couples. The piano had started up at some point, Keith not noticing the melody over the musical quality of the bartender’s sweet voice.
Oh - oh no. He was completely drunk, wasn’t he? Jazzed, zozzled, potted, tanked - whatever slang you used, that was Keith. He was supposed to stay sober; be the only responsible person in this establishment. He was supposed to abstain from all illegal activities and take detailed notes to bring his Captain. Instead, Keith hadn’t hesitated to drink the sparkly drinks the handsome bartender brought him, shamelessly flirting each time. He was a terrible agent. He was totally going to get fired when Shiro found out he’d gotten drunk. He also didn’t care at this moment. The bouncy, light-hearted music coupled with the bright smiles and delicious booze the bartender served him combined to take all the cares out of Keith. He felt light and free and reckless.
Guess this is why alcohol was bad. He should take his notepad and leave, go sit at a small table and take some notes, then leave the establishment and go straight home. He’d need to sober up and look fresh-faced for tomorrow when he handed in his report so as not to draw suspicion from Shiro.
But one look back at the bar, one smile that reached all the way up to those glittering sapphire eyes, and Keith knew he was going to stay.
“ … and so I told him, I said, ‘sorry Mac, banks closed’ but did he listen? Noooo, he just kept trying to kiss her!” Lance animatedly explained, his arms wildly gesticulating as he flung the bar rag around. Keith laughed at his story, Lance was funny. He was cute and he was funny and he made Keith smile. What was the story about? He had no idea - something to do with a drunk guy trying to kiss the pretty singer, Allura. But boy, oh boy, did Lance’s rendition have his full attention.
The bartender, who’d introduced himself around drink four or five or quite possibly six, had Keith fully enraptured by his tales of the various drunkards and their shenanigans. Keith honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed this hard.
“So what did you do?” he asked, leaning across the bar to better hear the story. Lance mimicked his movement, coming in even closer and making Keith’s heart race.
“Well, I told that creep to scram!”
“Good for you!” Keith cheered and Lance positively beamed at him.
They stayed like that a moment, leaning against the bar, far too close to one another, simply staring into each other’s eyes. Keith met those sparkling blues head-on, holding steady as the air charged between them. Somewhere, off in the distance, a man was complaining loudly about wanting a drink and Keith nearly broke his cover. He’d been two seconds from pulling out his badge and arresting the buffoon when Lance begrudgingly broke away to do his job. Luckily, Keith had retained enough of his faculties to rein in his rash impulse, angrily chugging the rest of his drink; a stunning teal colour this time.
By the time Lance returned to him, a glass full of cherry red liquid landing on Keith’s coaster, he was too deeply focused to notice. In his favourite bartender's absence, Keith had pulled out his notepad. He’d been furiously scribbling notes about how beautiful the jazz singer’s voice was, how nice it was to see people relaxed enough to dance freely, and how delicious the refreshments had been. He’d made note of the decor, commenting that it felt very much like a local pub and that it played into the atmosphere the private club was going for. Keith mentioned everything, every little detail, except the incredible bartender with the sparkling blue eyes and the very real and very illegal alcohol he was serving.
“Whatcha got there, kitty?” Lance purred over the bartop.
“NOTHING!” Keith panicked, quickly closing the notepad and trying to stuff it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Though Keith was quick, he was also drunk, and Lance easily ripped the notepad from his fingertips.
“You’re taking notes about the club?” he asked, his tone changing in an instant from flirty to wary. Keith didn’t like that, not one bit.
“Well, yeah, for work. But you’ll notice that I didn’t mention what was in those drinks! And - and I left you out completely.”
“Why would that matter?” Lance asked, his confusion clear in his tone and Keith watched the pieces slot together on his beautiful face. If only he could go back five minutes, go back to the handsome young man he’d been flirting with. But time doesn’t work that way, no matter how hard you will it to. Keith was too drunk to fix this mess; he could only let the words he’d already said, the clues he’d already dropped, marinate in Lance’s brain as his lovely face morphed into a hard frown.
“You’re a Prohi agent!” Lance seethed. Though his voice was no louder than a whisper, the force and aggression in his tone made it feel like he was yelling across the small space between them.
Keith could do nothing but nod.
“Get out.”
“Wait - what? Please, Lance, don’t.” he pleaded, desperate for more time. He needed to find a way to fix this. Lance was something special and Keith may never meet someone as incredible as him ever again. He may not find a place as safe and comfortable as this ever again. He couldn’t lose it, he just couldn’t, not when he’d only now found it. “Please, Lance,” he repeated, “let me stay! I won’t turn you in, I promise. Read my notes, I was going to give the club a pass. Honest!”
“Oh, that’s applesauce and baloney! I don’t believe you.”
“But you gotta, you just gotta!” Keith continued, reaching between them to grasp Lance’s hand on the bar. He flinched at the contact, still wary of Keith’s intentions and it hurt. Not that Keith could judge him, though - they’d only met that night, for all Lance knew it really was nothing more than fancy, innocent-sounding words to gather more information and let Keith hand them all over on a silver platter.
But, he would never do that. Okay, that had been his exact intention when he’d first arrived, but he’d been doubting his dedication to the agency since around the second drink and that first flirty smile. At this point, Keith was no more a danger to them than the club's other patrons.
“And that’s the honest to god truth?” Lance asked, trust slowly creeping back into his voice. For the first time in the history of alcohol consumption, the inability to keep your thoughts to yourself had actually paid off as his internal monologue had proven to be a lot less ‘internal’ than he’d intended. Keith nodded enthusiastically, not trusting his thoughts to stay in his head, and Lance finally broke his frown, swapping it for a breathtaking shy smile.
Keith positively melted as he picked up the red drink in front of him. “Cheers, Lance,” he said with a wink, lifting the glass to his lips and watching Lance’s smile finally reach his eyes.
“KEITH!” Lance exclaimed from behind the bar, tossing his rag onto the counter as he smiled brightly at him. “You came back!”
Keith took in his excited smile. He knew he should have given a proper report but by the time he’d gone to face his Captain, it felt like selling them all out. This was the first place that Keith had truly relaxed. Lance was the first person who’d made Keith truly laugh. And last night had been the first time that Keith had been truly happy.
He smiled back at Lance behind the bar, his earlier guilt over lying to Shiro wiped clear from his conscience at the blinding joy radiating off his Lance and said the only thing that made any sense in his brain. “Of course I did.” Because, ultimately, from the moment the boy behind the bar had smiled at him, Keith was a goner.