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Here’s a fun fact:
Keith is clingy when he’s tired.
Lance discovers this in the “rec room” one night after a long day of fighting Zarkon’s forces. He’s sitting on the couch watching Pidge and Hunk play a weird Altean version of pool when Keith comes into the room and unceremoniously plops on the couch, landing next to Lance. Like, right next to him. “Hey,” Keith says.
“…Hey…” Lance replies, because, okay, this is a little weird, but his mama raised him right. He’s polite. Mostly.
They slip into their usual tense silence as Pidge and Hunk continue to compete at space billiards, or whatever it’s called. It’s Hunk’s turn, and he’s trying to line up his corkscrew-shaped cue with little success.
“Who’s winning?” Keith asks eventually.
“Pidge,” Lance answers.
“Hm.”
“Yup.”
Keith yawns.
He yawns three more times within the next minute—not that Lance is counting. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance sees Keith shift from a slouched position, to a sideways lean against the back of the couch, to a strange, half-slump half-crouch with his knee drawn up to his chest. Finally, he sighs, puts his leg down, and leans back into the couch all the way. There’s a fourth yawn.
“Are you… tired?” Lance asks.
“Hm,” is Keith’s only reply. Lance figures that means ‘yes’.
It’s then that Lance starts to noticed Keith eyeing his shoulder with an expression Lance can only interpret as baleful. It’s weird, to say the least—even for Keith. At first Lance thinks that Keith is just giving him that look because he’s feeling pissy or something, but it only takes him a couple furtive glances to realize that no, Keith is definitely aiming his glare specifically in the vicinity of Lance’s shoulder and upper arm. Lance leans forward experimentally. Keith’s eyes follow.
Just as Lance is gearing up to say something about how creepy Keith is being, Keith scoots closer and says, “I’m tired, and this couch is uncomfortable as shit. Don’t make this weird.” Then he leans his head on Lance’s shoulder.
He leans his head. On Lance’s shoulder.
What the fuck.
Lance, thankfully, has the presence of mind not to completely freak out. He freaks out quietly, in his head, like a respectful and mature person. It takes a lot of self-control.
Okay. First things first, it’s impossible not to ‘make it weird’ because this is fucking Keith, and this is weird. Keith’s cheek is pressed against the bone of Lance’s shoulder and his eyes are closed and stupid hair is tickling Lance’s clavicle and it’s… disarming, to say the least. For once in his life, Keith doesn’t look grumpy. His face is actually sort of nice. Some people (not Lance) might even go so far as to say that he looks ‘cute’.
As the seconds tick by, Keith shifts a little closer, and now his whole side is pressed against Lance, his hand resting lightly on Lance’s lower arm. Lance screams internally. A wisp of hair slips from behind Keith’s ear and onto his face, and Lance has to stifle the urge to brush it away.
Okay. Maybe ‘some people’ does include Lance after all.
It’s not like Lance wants to think that Keith is cute. He’s Keith. He’s emo as shit, bossy, way too hot headed, and on top of all that he’s infuriatingly good at everything Lance is supposed to be good at. They’re natural rivals.
Which is why it’s so completely frustrating that Keith has a face like this. As much as Lance criticizes Keith’s mullet, his hair is actually really soft, and he has great bone structure. And fucking pretty eyes. And a nice ass too—what the fuck is with that? How is that fair? It’s probably just that Galra blood.
After about ten minutes of charged silence, both Lance’s arm and Keith have fallen asleep. Pidge and Hunk have long since left the room after Pidge won spectacularly and declined Hunk’s insistence on a rematch. “Let’s go somewhere else,” Pidge said, looking pointedly at Lance and then at Keith on Lance’s shoulder. “Anywhere else.”
Lance himself is starting to get a little tired. He stares at Keith for a long while, wondering if he should wake him up so they can both get up and go back to their quarters for an actual nap, when Keith moves his other hand up onto Lance’s wrist and burrows even deeper into Lance’s shoulder and neck. Lance shivers.
Fuck. There’s no way he’s leaving this couch tonight.
Tentatively, Lance lets himself lean back a little. He tries gently resting his head on top of Keith’s, and when Keith doesn’t stir, he adds a little more pressure. Keith’s hair actually makes for a not half-bad pillow. And he’s warm. And the new angle allows for a little of the circulation to come back into Lance’s arm.
The last think Lance remembers before falling asleep is the quiet sound of Keith’s breath and the warmth of his hand on his own.