Chapter Text
The first time Lance McClain experienced the Canvas Effect he was fifteen years old; sitting on top of his roof staring at the stars and wondering if it would just be easier to let gravity take him and just… slide off. He wasn’t suicidal, or even sad, he just was and that was the problem. There was nothing special about him. There was nothing jaw dropping, or shocking, or even interesting about Lance. He didn’t think so at least. In the vast expanse of the universe why at all did he matter? Could he even matter? He was always told he could do anything, be anything, but whatever he did it wouldn’t matter in the end.
‘I’m way too young to be having an existential crisis,’ he had thought. Yet there he was, starting up at the sky wishing he could be more than just existing.
A tickle on Lance’s arm had him shivering, rubbing at the spot to try and make it go away. Only it didn’t, and while it wasn’t particularly bothersome it was still a little distracting. It felt like someone was drawing on him and Lance had always been particularly ticklish. He tried to ignore it, drawing out constellations in the sky with a finger, but it was insistent. He pulled up his jacket sleeve to scratch at himself only to stop and squint through the dark.
On his arm a small design had begun to show, loops and curves and edges that had it transforming into something Lance thought was strangely pretty. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, and when it clicked in his head his face lit up with a smile. The Canvas Effect. Somewhere, someone out there, was drawing on their skin and Lance could feel it, could see it. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his skin break out in goosebumps and he absolutely loved it.
Because maybe, in the grand scheme of things, he didn’t matter. To one person though, he could mean the whole world.
Lance had learned about the Canvas Effect at a young age, most people did. If your parents didn’t teach you about it before you started school then you would eventually know there.
It was still something of an anomaly. Scientists weren’t sure what caused it, and honestly they weren’t even sure where to begin to find out more. It happened at different stages, usually during the first twenty years of life, and only maybe a fourth of the population experienced it. Whatever it was, magic or divine intervention, some people were just destined for each other and they only found out when they drew on their skin. Lance still couldn’t wrap his head around it, how he could make a small doodle with a pen on his wrist and miles (and maybe oceans) away someone would turn their own wrist over to find the same exact markings as if he had drawn on them himself. He could jot down notes on his skin, draw little pictures, or even ask questions and that one person, his soulmate, would be able to see it and answer in the same exact way.
While the Canvas Effect wasn’t common it wasn’t exactly rare, and nearly everyone waited with baited breath through the first twenty years of their life to see if they would get to experience it. To see if they could get so lucky.
His parent’s weren’t ‘lucky’. Neither of them had experienced it, but Lance figured that was perfectly fine. In some ways even better. You weren’t tied to a specific person. You could date whoever, kiss whoever, have sex with whoever without the lingering guilt in the back of your mind accusing you of being unfaithful. Or maybe that was just Lance. As it was, his kissing days ended that night on the roof. He had someone now. He was meant for someone now.
Lance had spent the next few weeks writing down questions on his arms. What’s your name? How old are you? Where are you from? After weeks with no answer he thought maybe the connection was broken. Was that even possible? Just his luck, maybe the connection only went one way. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to try one more time, just to double check, so with fingers he would never admit were shaking he scrawled out one more question on his arm.
Can you see this?
And almost immediately, words were written back.
Leave me alone.
Lance had sat back in bed with a frown, staring at the words on his arm wondering what the fuck could have earned him such a reaction. Was he coming on too strong? Asking too many questions? Or maybe his soulmate was just a dick.
He shoved his head into his pillow, groaning and kicking out his feet. Of course. He, Lance McClain, was connected spiritually (magically?) to a dick.
And, well, if he was going to be a dick Lance figured it was only appropriate to cover him in them.
“For god’s sake, Lance, will you please stop drawing cocks on your arm,” Pidge groaned, reaching over to try and swipe the pen from his fingers as if she could possibly stop him. This fight had been going on for years and they were no closer to getting him to stop drawing crude genitalia on his body then they were to growing wings and flying to the moon.
“Hey, no,” Lance danced away from their prying hands. “We have a thing, me and dick face. I draw them a penis every morning and evening on the dot.”
Hunk squinted at his arm, “Is that what they are? I always thought you were drawing misshapen hearts all over yourself.”
“Offended,” Lance retorted, once again twisting out of Pidge’s way. He only drew the best penises for dick face. They deserved no less!
“Your soulmate probably hates you,” Pidge told him, finally swiping the pen away from him.
“If I were only so lucky.”
“Both of you,” Hunk started, glaring accusingly and pointing the end of his pencil at them. “We’re supposed to be studying.”
Lance fell into his chair, hooking a leg over one of the arms and putting the other on top of his book crinkling the paper. “Or, we could call it quits and head out into town. Maybe meet some girls. ”
Hunk reached over the table and pushed his foot off of the book, “Or you could take your education seriously and keep on taking notes.”
“Can’t, Pidge took my pen.”
Said pen flew through the air, hitting him in the cheek and bouncing off to land on the ground. Lance stared at the pen on the ground for a moment before he flung himself and the chair back dramatically, landing in a heap on the carpet. “ Coño! I’ve been hit!”
Pidge slammed her book closed, gathering up her notes and pencils. “I give up. You are literally the worst person to study with.”
“I think I’m bleeding!”
Pidge only sighed at that and walked to their room. Lance watched them with a pout, before untangling himself from the chair and standing up.
“Now that our trio is down to two,” he began, grinning at Hunk. “Wanna play some overwatch?”
His best friend closed his book with a groan, “I’m never going to pass this semester with you around.”
Lance’s recklessness used to get him into a lot of trouble. He’d talk back to teachers, get detention, and mostly it was because he didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut. Even now he had trouble watching what he said. He liked to think he was doing better though. Still, he was incredibly impulsive.
He toyed with his stomach, plucking at the skin of his belly button pondering. He looked so… normal. Maybe normal wasn’t so bad but he desperately wanted to be not normal. Everything he did and said was to stick out. When he was outside he felt a little more at peace, but when he was laying in bed with his eyes closed he felt so completely plain.
He stuck his head out from his room with a grin, shouting loudly. “ Pidge! Let’s get our bellybuttons pierced!”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hunk groaned next door.
Pidge stuck their head out and grinned back Lance. “Seriously?”
“I got a lot of nice tips at my last shift at Segobiano’s ,” Lance called out as he dug around in his room looking for his wallet. He chucked in in here yesterday, but where ?
Pidge came padding into his room, alien slippers on and still in their green and white plaid PJ’s. “This was sudden.”
“I’m feeling too mediocre,” he explained, finally finding his wallet underneath his bed. “Studying Communication doesn’t leave much room for excitement.”
“And getting a piercing is the answer?”
“Getting a piercing is always the answer.”
“Lance, you cried when you got your ears pierced.”
Lance tugged at his ear, fingering the stud in it and pouting. “They were tears of joy.”
Pidge only raised an eyebrow at him before taking their phone out and typing. “My brother knows a guy who does piercings. Let me get the address to their shop and then we can go. I still have Christmas money I’ve been stashing that I can use.”
“Aren’t you guys going to think about this a little?” Hunk asked, leaning against Lance’s door.
“Thinking is what smart people do,” Lance explained. He dug around in his closet looking for a pair of clean pants. “I want to not be smart today.”
He held a pair of light blue jeans up to his face and sniffed them. Not clean, still they were the only pair left so they’d have to do. He chucked off his sweatpants, ignoring disgusted cries from Hunk and Pidge, and slipped them on. He left the grey shirt he had on and then grabbed his jacket.
He felt a tracing on his arm, and he looked down to see designs being drawn. He scowled and shook his head. Quickly grabbing a pen he scrawled a dick right in the middle of the design in an attempt to mess it up. The drawing quickly stopped, and he felt a sense of satisfaction.
I win.
“I’ve got the address,” Pidge piped up. “His friend Shiro is the one who does the piercings. He used to come over all the time when I was younger.”
Hunk groaned, “I’ll go try to start up Rosalina.”
Rosalina was a grey 1996 Honda Accord that Lance considered the love of his life. The stereo make funny banging noises when you turned it up too high, the dashboard had a crack that he kept promising the car he’d fix but never had the money to, and every bump they went over threatened to shake the rust holding the car together loose. She was nearly impossible to start in the winter and she liked to stall a few times after she was filled up. Lance loved her though, and made a point to tell her every time he sat inside of her.
After Hunk couldn’t get her started Lance climbed into the front seat. He rubbed her steering wheel lovingly, turning the key and listening to her struggle. “Come on baby, I know it’s cold outside but you can do it.”
Pidge insisted on taking the front seat, hopping in before Hunk could move to stop her. He grumbled as he climbed into the back seat kicking away fast food bags and a few empty bottles from his way.
It took a few more tries and a lot more cooing from Lance before Rosalina roared to life. He cheered happily, pulling out from his parking space and away from their apartment complex. He insisted on listening to Shakira on the way, shaking his hips on his seat as the other two groaned and complained loudly. They shut up after he threatened to put on Kesha instead.
When they pulled into the shop Lance’s fingers were trembling. He stared at the sign on the door, “The Paladins” blinking next to an “Open” sign, trying to remember where his earlier excitement and bravery came from. He chewed on the inside of his lip, was getting a piercing really the answer? There had to be other ways he could try and make his niche in the world. Getting a belly button piercing hardly made him stand out.
“Chickening out?” Pidge mocked, nudging him with an elbow.
Lance scoffed, “No!”
He threw open the door and walked into the store before they could mock him further. Pidge and Hunk followed behind.
“Pidge!”
They all looked over to see a man walking out from the back, a towel in his hands that he promptly threw on the table. Lance took a step back, counting his breaths as he tried to remember how to breath, because shit no one had the right to look that attractive. Pitch black hair tapered into white at his forehead, a scar across his nose, and he had arms that were the size of his thigh.
Pidge grinned. “Hey Shiro!”
“Long time no see,” He said, pulling them into a hug. Lance noticed the prosthetic arm then and he tried not to stare. It hardly seemed to bother him though, with the way he seemed to be using it as much as his other hand. “I haven’t seen you in years!”
“College,” they said, wrinkling their nose. “I have no social life anymore.”
Lance pouted, “You have me!”
“You don’t count.”
Okay, wow, rude. Lance stuck his tongue out at them and crossed his arms over his chest.
Shiro let them go, staring over and Lance and then Hunk. “Who are your friends?”
“Shit face and Hunk.”
He was going to drop kick them out of the window. The man raised an eyebrow and Pidge shrugged.
“This is Lance,” they said pointing to him. “But his name is actually Hunk.”
Shiro held out a hand, his fake one, and it took Lance a moment to respond and actually shake it. Shit, he was really looking like an asshole. Hunk took his hand next, no hesitation, and Lance chose to look around the shop then instead of dwelling on how much of a dick he was making himself out to be.
It was small, cute almost, two tattoo stations set up on one end, a swiveling chair and a padded bench against the wall on the other end, tables on either side of them. The walls were covered in art and photos of people, all with either red rimmed tattoos that Lance assumed had to be new or piercings. There were photo albums set up on the counter, one currently opened showing a detailed picture of a lion chasing some stars, and racks of body jewelry locked up in glass containers. The lights were bright, which helped make the room seem a little bigger then it was, and there were christmas lights hanging up on one wall.
There was a boy at the counter right then, and Lance nearly walked out of the shop just to avoid making a fool of himself. His hair was stupid, looking too much like a mullet to be remotely okay in this day and age, but Lance has to admit grudgingly that it looked really good on him. Light blue eyes looked around bored as he wiped down the counter with the towel that Shiro had thrown. His long sleeves were tugged up a fraction to keep them from getting in the way, and he kept his head down and away from them. He didn’t have the same kind of attractiveness as Shiro, but he was utterly adorable and it pissed Lance off.
‘Is everyone here hot?!’
“So what brings you in here?” Shiro asked.
Right, back to business.
“Lance and I want to get our bellybuttons pierced.” Pidge told him.
Shiro nodded and walked behind the counter, Pidge and Lance stepping closer to it. Lance made sure to maneuver so that Pidge was closest to the cute boy cleaning. Mostly so he wouldn’t have to look at him and keep losing his train of thought. Hunk didn’t follow them, choosing to look over the art on the walls.
Shiro spun one of the glass cages around so that the naval rings faced them. “Don’t choose any of the dangly ones. If that gets caught on something while it’s still healing you’re going to hate yourself.”
Lance forced himself to focus on the jewelry and far away from the cute boy, who had moved from cleaning to go talk with Hunk. Good, Lance figured. Less chance of making a ass of himself.
“Oh! This one has stars!” Lance pointed excited at it. “Pidge, lets get matching belly button rings!”
Pidge squinted at it before grinning at Shiro, “Please tell me you have more then one of that.”
Shiro spun the rack around to take a look at it before nodding and digging below the counter. He began to discuss prices with them as Hunk walked over.
“I think I want a tattoo,” Hunk said.
“Mhm,” Lance hummed, not really paying attention. He turned around and grinned at him. “I’m getting one with stars.”
“Hey Keith!” Shiro shouted. “Since you don’t have any appointments right now can you help me out over here?”
Cutie - Keith - walked over then, opening one of the drawers and digging around. “What gauge?”
“Fourteen,” Shiro told him, pulling out the rings and double checking to make sure they were the ones they wanted. “ID’s please? It’s kind of a formality.”
Lance watched as Keith pulled out a couple of packaged needles, alcohol swabs, and a package of gloves. The boy turned to look over at them, “All three of you?”
Pidge shook their head and pointed a thumb at Lance, “Just me and him.”
Keith nodded and pulled a couple of the stools out of the corner. Lance refused to admit he was looking at his ass the entire time. Jeans that tight should be illegal. Who gave him the right ?
Shiro pulled out a couple forms and two pens, handing them to Lance and Pidge for them to sign out. Lance barely processed it, signing his name and the date at the bottom.
Shiro took the forms, reading them over, before motioning them over to the chairs. He picked up a stool from behind the counter on the way. “Who’s going first?”
Pidge shoved Lance forward, “Him, before he chickens out.”
Keith raised an eyebrow at him as he placed the materials on the table beside the chair. “Need someone to hold your hand?”
Lance bristled at that, face flushing, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“He might, he cried when he got his ears pierced.” Pidge piped up.
“Tears of joy!” Lance cried out, waving his arms. “Why’d you have to tell him that?”
Keith’s mouth quirked up at the edge, “Are you sure you can handle getting your belly button done?”
Lance grumbled under his breath, sitting on the padded bench that Shiro motioned him towards. He leaned back and pulled his shirt up over his stomach. His fingers shook as he gripped the fabric and with the way Keith tried, and failed, to suppress a snort it didn’t go unnoticed. He ground his teeth together. Of course, Cutie just had to be an asshole as well as hot.
“Keith, be nice, you cried when I pierced your tongue.”
Keith’s mouth gaped, looking like he was struggling to form a coherent sound before managing. “You sobbed when I tattooed your back.”
“Good thing I had Allura’s hand to hold,” Shiro said, not even bothered.
Keith’s eyes narrowed at that, choosing to change the subject. “When’s my next appointment?”
“At four; so, unless we get a drop in, you’re free for a couple of hours.”
Lance hissed as Shiro wiped his stomach down with a cold alcohol wipe. His stomach started doing weird flips, and he found that he really wanted to prove to Keith that he could get this done just fine. He bounced his leg anxiously until Pidge reached over to still it. So much for keeping cool.
“Where is Allura?” Pidge asked, looking around the shop.
“She’s at home taking care of the baby,” Shiro told her. “Jaimee has a cold and won’t let her go. Upper or lower?”
It took a minute for Lance to realize he was talking to him. “Uh, lower.”
Shiro uncapped a sharpie, making a dot on his skin, “That spot look okay?”
“Yeah, looks good. Looks great.”
‘ Am I shaking?’ He swallowed hard, looking up at the ceiling and anywhere away from Shiro or the needles on the desk. Lance paled when Shiro pinched the skin of his bellybutton between a clamp. Here it comes, here it comes, here it comes.
“Need that hand now?” Keith asked, smirking.
“Do you have anything better to do other than be an ass- Hijo de puta! ”
Shit, shit, shit, shit. Lance sat up a little, looking down and visibly going green.
“See?” Shiro said as Lance stared down at the needle sticking through his skin. “It wasn’t that bad.”
Lance thought he was going to pass out. He felt his vision waver, the needle in his stomach dancing, and fuck this was so not looking cool right now. He glanced over for a second and noticed that Keith actually looked kind of worried. Still amused, but worried.
Hunk immediately stood behind Lance, putting his hands on his shoulders to gently lower him back until he was laying down again. “Stay with me big guy.”
“I’m fine !”
Shiro stuck the end of the ring against the needle, coaxing it out as he pushed the ring through. Lance kept his eyes shut tight, refusing to look at anyone let alone anything. It wasn’t until Hunk told him he could open his eyes that he looked at his stomach.
“Huh,” he started. “That wasn’t awful.”
And shit did it look cool. Best decision of his life !
Pidge barked out a laugh at the same time Keith fought back his own, a hand pressed to his mouth and his shoulders shaking with the effort. Shiro only smiled as he wiped it down once again, cleaning off the little bit of blood that had accumulated. Lance glared at the laughing pair before gingerly lowering his shirt and hopping off of the stool.
He leaned against the wall, poking at his throbbing stomach. “My tummy has a heartbeat.”
Keith rolled his eyes, gathering up the used materials to dispose of them. “You’ll be okay.”
Lance narrowed his eyes at him. “Do you know how to not be condescending?”
“It’s not my fault if you take it that way.”
Was he? Maybe he was being a little too aggressive, but when he looked at Cutie’s face he couldn’t help but felt it was deserved. No one had the right to be that hot.
Lance decided he hated him.
After a moment Pidge hopped up onto where he had been sitting. Theirs seemed to go much faster, or maybe it just seemed to take forever because he was (not scared, never scared) excited. He had to look away when Shiro pushed the needle through, looking at Keith instead. He had his lower lip between his teeth as he pulled his hair into a small ponytail. Lance felt his face go red. In a shitty messy ponytail he was somehow cuter, and Lance wanted to scream. Before he could look away Keith turned and caught him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. Lance only stuck his tongue out childishly in a panicked response before looking back towards Pidge.
Pidge hopped off the stool, whooping as they stared down at their stomach. “It looks so cool!”
Lance grinned at them, “We’re twinners!”
“If you say that again I will rip your ring out from your stomach.”
“Well deserved,” Keith muttered.
Asshole.
Shiro launched into a speech about how they should take care of their piercings, how to clean them, blah blah blah. Lance trusted Pidge to listen because Keith was now back to work cleaning up the shop and he could stare at his butt in those tight jeans as he moved. He really wanted to grab his ass to see if it felt as good as it looked, and he hurriedly shoved them into his pocket just in case Keith got too close and he couldn’t help himself. Ay dios mio.
Hunk drove them back home, Lance still too shaky with nerves and Pidge hating to drive.
“I’m seriously considering getting a tattoo,” Hunk said. “Lance, if I get a tattoo will you come with me?”
“Sure,” Lance muttered, glaring out the window with his head still stuck on Keith. He couldn’t remember the last time someone annoyed him that badly, but maybe annoyed wasn’t the right word. Intimidated? Flustered?
No, annoyed. Lance refused to admit that he was either of those things. Keith could be as cute as he wanted but he was determined to not like him. Hate him even.
“Promise?”
“Sure.”