Work Text:
Keith wakes up first, sliding out of sleep into the hazy half-consciousness of an early morning. At first, he's not sure why he's awake; Shiro's still sleeping, his mouth slightly slack, his breathing heavy. Like this, he looks so much younger, the furrow in his brow smoothed out by his dreams. Keith spends a few seconds admiring him, wanting to touch him, but then something buzzes under his pillow.
It's his comm. On the ground at the foot of the bed, the wolf—Keith is not calling him Kosmo, no matter how hard Lance is trying to make it happen—lifts his head, ears pricked. Trying not to wake Shiro, Keith digs under his pillow to grab at it, and rolls carefully away from Shiro to check it.
It's an alert that Keith himself had set. Practice drills at 0900 hours. Keith suddenly hates his past self for scheduling the drills the same day as one of Shiro's rare days off, but being the leader of Voltron means being the leader and making the tough choices. Keith just didn't know one of the options would be a lazy, uninterrupted morning with Shiro.
His comm vibrates again, more intensely this time, like it can sense his hesitation, and Keith groans, slapping a hand to the screen and silencing it. "Alright, alright, I'm up," he tells the comm, and the universe at large.
Keith manages to slip out of bed without waking Shiro, giving the wolf a scratch around the ears as he goes, but it's no use. By the time Keith's brushed his teeth, showered, and returned to the bedroom to grab his clothes, Shiro's blinking blearily at him from the bed, his left arm stretched above his head. He looks—well, he looks like something straight out of teenage-Keith's dreams, and adult-Keith is having trouble remembering why he shouldn't just climb back into bed, practice drills be damned.
"What time is it?" Shiro asks, his voice gravelly and thick with sleep. It comes out sounding more like "Whtimezit?" and Keith can't help but laugh.
"Early," he replies. "Go back to sleep."
Shiro makes a soft humming noise as he stretches out, luxuriously like a cat, and, really, it should be illegal to be that attractive at—ugh, seven in the morning. "But you're awake now," Shiro says sleepily. He's smiling, but with his half-lidded eyes, it looks more like a come-on, and Keith can feel his body respond to it. "And naked."
"You're sharp in the mornings," Keith says, grinning while rummaging around Shiro's mess of a dresser for clean underwear. "I gotta run drills with the team. But I'll be back by noon so we can get lunch."
"Mmm," Shiro hums. "Okay." His voice sounds clearer, less sleepy. "Make sure to practice getting your cannons operational faster. Last time was fine, but the reaction time could be faster if you guys maybe—"
"Nuh uh," Keith interrupts, shoving his head through the collar of his t-shirt. Or maybe it's Shiro's t-shirt? It hangs a little loose on him, but it's comfortable, so Keith's not going to question it. Besides, he's going to have to change into the suit once he gets to Black anyway. He sits on the edge of the bed, trying to pull up the discarded pair of pants he found on the floor. "None of that today, it's your day off. Just sleep, and I'll be back before you know it."
Shiro chuckles, one of Keith's favorite sounds. "Alright, alright, I hear you. No backseat captaining," he says, snuggling down into the covers. "Guess it'll just be Kosmo and me until you get back."
Keith groans. "Not you too," he despairs, even as the wolf stands and hops into bed with Shiro, circling once, twice, three times before settling down in Keith's spot. "Hey," Keith says, pointing at the wolf, who blinks at him. "You're in charge until I get back, okay? Make sure he's resting."
The wolf exhales noisily, and Keith chooses to take that as an acceptance of his duties. "Okay, I'm gonna go," he says, shoving his feet into his boots. "Bye, see you later."
"Keith," Shiro says. He sounds amused, and his voice is so filled with affection, Keith almost blushes. It's been months since this started, and Keith still gets butterflies. "Did you forget something?"
Now there's definitely a blush crawling up Keith's neck as he angles his body to look at Shiro, who looks back at him expectantly. "You dork," Keith says and leans in, over the wolf—oh, hell, Kosmo—somehow managing to avoid Shiro's gaze entirely as he presses his mouth to Shiro's and swallows the soft noise he makes. After a second, Shiro's left hand comes up to cup Keith's cheek, thumb tenderly sweeping over the line of Keith's jaw. It makes him feel safe, treasured, like he's something precious, and Keith lets his eyes fall shut as Shiro's mouth opens for him.
They kiss for what feels like ages, until they both have to draw back for breath. "I love you," Keith mumbles. Keith's back aches a little from the awkward angle of his lean, and this—this is the worst, because now Keith is going to have to leave Shiro in their bed, all warm and pliant. For as many times as Keith has saved the universe, it'd be nice for the universe to give back a little sometimes.
"Wow," Shiro says with a lopsided grin. Keith can't help but preen at the breathless quality of it, before Shiro's unexpected giggle and next words abruptly shake him out of his post-kiss high. "I was talking about your ID card—it's on the nightstand, here—" Shiro's right hand floats up to Keith with his ID card in the palm. Keith takes it almost mechanically, as the flush flares up his neck and prickles his cheeks, "—but wow. Can we do that again? Let's do that again."
"Ugh," Keith says, dropping his face in his hands. "I take it back, you're the worst."
"Nope, you can't do that. No take-backs," Shiro says, clearly struggling not to laugh. At least he's doing Keith the courtesy of muffling whatever peals of laughter sneak out into the covers. Not that it helps that much; there's only so much duvets can do.
"Shut up," Keith groans into his hands, making a solid effort to smother himself. "I hate you."
"No you don't," Shiro says, words wobbling only slightly. His voice is partially muffled by the duvet. "You love me."
"I've never said those words in my life," Keith declares.
"Hey," Shiro says, gently and clearly this time. There's a shift in the weight of the bed and a rustle of sheets as Shiro moves, presumably to sit up. Keith feels Shiro's hands on his forearms, a persuasive tug. "I love you, too."
Keith dares to peek through his fingers. There's still laughter in Shiro's face, but he's not joking around anymore. The lopsided smirk from before has changed into a soft, affectionate smile, and Keith is struck yet again by how effortlessly handsome Shiro is. It seems impossible but he looks younger than he had when they first met, the Garrison's golden boy. The face that launched a thousand spaceships.
It's the carelessness of it, Keith realizes, the ease with which Shiro exists here, in this room, with Keith. Outside, he might have the weight of the world on his shoulders, but in here, he can set it down for a moment, or two. Keith is ready to spend every day for the rest of his life making sure that can happen.
Keith lets Shiro pull his hands down from his face, and laces their fingers when Shiro presses his palm into his.
"Let's never mention this to anyone," Keith says.
"I thought it was sweet," Shiro says. He smiles wider. "You're sweet."
"That's why," Keith insists. He feels a little playful, and he informs Shiro archly: "I have a reputation, you know."
"Sure, sure," Shiro says indulgently. "Our secret."
"No take-backs," Keith says. They smile at each other, and then he lets Shiro's hands go. "I really have to go now." He really doesn't want to, but his comm has started buzzing with messages from the team, presumably asking where he is. Keith is sure there's at least one hint-hint-nudge-nudge message in there about Shiro.
"Okay," Shiro says with the world's tiniest pout, testing Keith's resolve—but Keith didn't search every nook and cranny of this galaxy and galaxies beyond for this man with a weak will. He bravely makes it to the door, has his hand on the door handle, when Shiro says, "Keith?" and because it's Keith, and because it's Shiro, he turns.
Shiro's arm floats in front of him, patiently holding out Keith's ID. This time, Keith doesn't bother with the embarrassment, just takes the stupid ID and runs. The last thing he hears before the door shuts between him and Shiro is Shiro's bright, unrestrained laughter.