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Shiro wakes to the sound of his door unlocking and creaking open.
He freezes, heart rate climbing as footsteps approach the bed. Who the fuck would break into his room so late, was it some prank that Matt was orchestrating or was it someone who hated him, god, could someone actually hate him--
He sits up in bed and reaches to flick on the lamp on the bedside table, and immediately exhales in relief.
“Jesus, Keith, what are you doing here?” Shiro asks, pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to slow his heart.
Keith stops where he is, a few feet from the bed, and smirks. “Hmm, what do you think, Shiro?” he asks with a sassy tilt of his head, and that’s when Shiro notices the easy slant of his shoulders, the confident jut of his hip. Keith’s eyes are bright and glassy in the soft light of the lamp, and Shiro suddenly understands - Keith’s at least tipsy. And a tipsy Keith is a weirdly affectionate Keith.
Keith giggles and strolls closer as Shiro slowly sits up, pulling the blankets up over his bare chest. He’s suddenly embarrassed, even though it’s just Keith, who’s seen much more of him naked than his chest. “C’mon, Shiro, you’re a smart boy,” he murmurs, and it’s not fair that Keith sounds so good when he’s drunk, that this is one of the only times he lets himself be soft. Shiro’s mouth opens and closes, willing the words to get from his sleep-slow brain to his mouth, but then Keith’s kneeling on the bed and bracing his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and leaning in and Shiro just doesn’t care anymore about anything other than Keith pressed up into his space.
Shiro’s a little surprised when Keith closes the distance first - Keith’s usually so shy, and he rarely initiates anything, but apparently Drunk Keith doesn’t give a shit about looking needy or clingy because he’s pressing his lips against Shiro’s and licking into his mouth and all Shiro can do is sigh against him.
Eventually his thoughts catch up to his body and he pulls away. “Keith,” he starts, ready to lecture him about consent and watching your drinks and did you drink enough water and--
“Shiro,” Keith sighs, interrupting his train of thought. “I was with Hunk, and you know how he is about water. He’s like--hah, he’s kind of like you, actually, but he’s not as hot.” He presses a kiss to Shiro’s cheek before turning and sitting so he can unzip his boots. “Anyway, I’m your boyfriend, and you’re my boyfriend, and one of the many perks of that arrangement is that you can cuddle me when I’m drunk,” he says as he finishes with his boots and slides his jacket off to toss it on the floor. “So, scoot over and hold me.”
Shiro blearily thinks that he’s never heard Keith say the word cuddle before - he’s usually less vocal and more tactile about what he wants, simply putting Shiro’s hands where he wants them or sitting down in his lap when he wants affection. He should probably tell Keith that it’s good that he’s asking for what he wants, instead of expecting Shiro to read his actions, or maybe reprimand him, actually, for just barging into his room at three-thirty without asking, but the second Keith pulls the blankets back Shiro knows he’s done for.
Keith climbs in and curls up with his head against Shiro’s chest. He sighs happily. “God, you’re so fucking hot, Shiro,” he slurs, hand coming up to trail down Shiro’s abs. “And big, and strong, and you take such good care of me--fuck, how did I end up with you?”
Shiro chuckles and wraps an arm around Keith, pulling him closer. “Must’ve been your patient, respectful nature,” he deadpans.
Keith snorts. “You love when I’m a brat, sir,” he teases. Shiro splutters and goes tense. He feels Keith’s small frame shake with laughter, though, and that puts him at ease. At least he doesn’t have to have the too-drunk-for-consent talk with Keith again.
“Don’t worry, big guy, I just want to - just this,” Keith sighs, nuzzling against Shiro’s skin. SHiro raises an eyebrow and peeks down, but Keith’s eyes are already shut. Good, more sleep will probably help his body feel better in the morning. Shiro adores Keith, but grumpy, hungover Keith is not his favorite thing to deal with on a Sunday when he has papers to grade.
He sighs and shifts them both down on the bed so he’s lying flat again, then tugs the covers up, careful to leave Keith some breathing room. He waits for Keith’s breathing to even out, then drifts to sleep himself, lulled by the warmth at his side and in his heart.