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“Ouch,” Lance hisses and leans back.
“Stay still and let me apply this on you,” Keith scolds and leans closer to Lance, fingers ghosting over his burned cheeks.
“It hurts!”
“It won’t hurt when I’m done, so, stop leaning away.”
“How did this happen, my skin is already a tanned shade,” Lance puffs out his cheeks.
“Should’ve put on sunscreen, babe,” Keith sing-songs. “The desert sun is brutal.”
This is painfully unfair, Lance thinks. He huffs grumpily and obliges.
Lance feels the cold cream soothe over his burning skin and stiffens at the sudden change in temperature, but this time he does not lean away. Keith slides his fingers across his cheeks, featherlight and tender. It causes Lance to flutter his eyes close, the sensation being both stinging and pleasant.
“How come you’re not sunburnt,” Lance mumbles grumpily, relieved when his voice comes unwavering. “You’re, like, the Snow White but paler.”
Keith huffs a laugh, still spreading the cream with such gentleness Lance’s heart threatens to jump out of his ribcage.
“Because Shiro made me wear twenty-seven bottles of sunscreen,” he says, pulling his hand away.
Lance looks at him then, free from his touch he can breathe a lot easier. Keith’s squeezing more Aloe Vera lotion onto his fingers, his cheeks and nose are dusted with a light shade of pink, a very pretty result of being under the sun for a long amount of time.
Lance likes it, a touch of color to his usually pale skin; it gives Keith a boyish charm that makes Lance all flustered and blushy when he smiles.
Keith’s head is bent down to look at the bottle in his hand and his long, ink-black hair is getting in his eyes. He tries to blow it away but pouts when his attempt ends with even more hair sliding across his face.
Lance chuckles, low and short. “Your hair keeps falling into your eyes, do you know that?” he says, voice amused and fond.
Keith glares up at him, but it soon morphs into a soft expression. Lance smiles at him and reaches forward.
“Here, lemme just—” he slides his fingers up onto the boy’s forehead, pushing the thick fringes back and exposing his boyfriends very, very attractive face. God, Lance will never get used to how beautiful and handsome Keith is, and now with sun-kissed skin? Ugh, can he just stare and stare and stare and—
“Try not to drool,” Keith teases and moves to apply the soothing cream on Lance’s other cheek. Lance stutters and averts his gaze, now staring intensely at the lotion on the bed between the two of them. It’s not the first time Keith’s caught him staring – definitely won’t be the last either – but Lance is just as embarrassed at being caught red-handed as he was the first time it happened. This thing – him and Keith, together – it’s still new and Lance is still doubting that their relationship is not a part of his imagination.
He keeps his eyes downcast for the rest of the process, quietly enjoying the feeling of Keith’s skin against his.
“You know,” Keith says, breaking the silence. Lance is certain the lotion has been completely absorbed by his skin by now, but Keith’s fingers are still running back and forth across his cheekbone, ever so careful and light. “You look cute with a red face,” he says and Lance swears his heart skips a beat or ten.
“I— I’m in pain and you think it’s cute,” he says, aiming for casualty and missing by a fucking galaxy.
“Yep, it’s like you’re always blushing, don’t even have to do anything,” Keith smirks. “Makes you even more beautiful,” and well, Lance could die, you know? Like, his heart could rip open his chest and Lance. Could. Very much. Die. And it will be all Keith’s fault.
And then, as if his words were not already too much to handle, Keith does that thing where he tucks Lance’s very short, very un-tuck-able strands of hair behind his ear just because he likes it when he does it and Lance forgets to breathe. Keith knows, Lance is sure he knows what he’s doing to him, the stupid smirk and the glint in his eyes are proving Lance’s point right; that bastard is living his life to the fullest.
“Jeez, write me a poem, Romeo,” Lance says, voice teasing but still holding a shaky note to it. Dammit.
Keith hums, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes and the sheer force of it makes Lance’s fingers twitch; it’s so full of— of feelings and fondness, Lance could dive into those indigos and drown as a happy, happy man.
“Maybe another day,” Keith whispers, low and scratchy, and Lance would have been ashamed at the effect that voice has on him if he wasn’t drunk at the sudden proximity.
Keith leans in slow, agonizingly slow, and Lance is seconds away from pulling the boy closer by his collar, but then he feels the light brush of Keith lips on his and forgets to breathe all over again.
The kiss is soft and tender and timid, almost like their first ever kiss with both of them afraid and uncertain and shy. Lance’s eyes flutter shut, breath hitching in his throat and he parts his mouth, moving in for more.
But then Keith is on his feet and is walking towards the door, the very opposite of where Lance wants him to be walking, to be leaning and grabbing and touching and—
“You’re so uncool,” Lance mutters, crossing his arms.
“Curb your thirst, sweetheart, Shiro’s waiting for us,” Keith calls back, shooting a smug grin over his shoulder as he exits the room.
This, Lance thinks, again, is very unfair.