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The mornings in this new and real home still feel almost...
Unbelievable. Strange. No, overwhelming.
Yes, that is the most fitting word, Keith decides as he fully opens his eyes and blinks against the morning light that peeks through the window blinds as though it’s greeting him a good morning.
This is the 12th time (but regretfully not the 12th time in a row) he has woken up in this apartment ‒ their apartment ‒ and truly considered the goodness of this world that used to be so harsh on all of them. This thought is an idle one in the early haze of waking, triggered by Keith's dear husband shifting closer to him and mumbling something unintelligible in his sleep as if he's having a serious conversation with himself. Keith is hopelessly endeared.
It's 9 am. Somewhere downstairs Kosmo's overgrown nails scratch against the parquet as he presumably roams around restlessly waiting for his morning food. Keith's surprised that the wolf hasn't come upstairs to wake them up yet as he's usually eager for even the smallest bit of attention. But then again, Kosmo is a very smart wolf, Keith thinks proudly.
Outside the sun is already loud and proud and Keith can almost feel its heat through the walls. It's very unusual for them to be in bed this late ‒ Keith doesn't think it has actually happened in months. God knows both of them have needed rest.
Keith smiles at the white ceiling of their bedroom, taking a few moments to bask out the slow fogginess of his post-sleep body.
How amazing it is to think that this kind of life he has right now is even possible. That this is something he has won for himself. Through war and hurt and love so great it defied the whole universe.
Keith turns carefully onto his side and studies the man who is undoubtedly the love of his love. The man he would do anything ‒has done anything ‒ for. It still doesn't feel real sometimes.
It still doesn't feel real that Shiro has always come back for him.
To Keith. No one else. Only him.
They saved each other, yes, but above all, they chose each other.
Keith reaches over to gently tug on Shiro's messy bangs making Shiro's nose wrinkle in annoyance in his sleep. Keith does it again and Shiro mumbles something under his breath. Then he smacks his lips together and burrows closer to Keith's warmth, trapping Keith's chest under his heavy arm and nosing the root of his neck with a sleepy sigh.
Keith grins, trying not to laugh at the pure happiness he feels. Yet another moment to cherish in this life he has built for himself from almost nothing. Somehow this moment feels significant to him. Isn’t that incredibly curious?
Then Shiro suddenly sneezes and Keith laughs aloud before angling his head slightly away so he can press an achingly tender kiss on the apple of Shiro's cheek. After, he strokes the skin with his thumb, tracing over the sharp bone under the layer of skin. Then he leans closer again to breathe in the smell of pure Shiro.
"I love you," Keith murmurs and Shiro actually mutters something back, sounding even very keen about it. But he still remains deeply asleep.
Keith starts untangling himself from the duvet he's buried in while trying not to disturb or poke Shiro awake with an elbow. Keith doesn't want him to rise yet, it's rare for either of them to sleep this late, but Shiro in particular is a terrible sleeper. He goes to bed late in the evening but is always up at sunrise. Keith knows Shiro struggles with nightmares and Keith has seen a fair share of his own during and after the war. But Shiro dreams mostly about his lonely year in the captivity and wakes up with a thick sheet of panic-induced sweat on his skin.
That is something Keith can never fully understand and he has learned to be fine about it ‒ even if he wishes he could do something more to help Shiro with his PTSD. At least he goes to therapy every week.
But yes, it's incredibly rare for Shiro to be asleep this late in the morning and Keith is definitely not going to be the one to wake him.
He gets up and dresses himself in quiet, careful not to make too much noise. He’s almost afraid of breathing too loudly. Luckily, Keith somehow manages to put on his socks without staggering and after that he leaves the room with another fond glance at Shiro which makes a little endeared grin form on Keith's lips.
Keith silently tiptoes downstairs and is welcomed by Kosmo where he’s waiting at the bottom of the staircase. His tail starts immediately wagging when their eyes meet.
“Hey, buddy,” Keith murmurs and ruffles the softness of Kosmo’s furred neck under his palms. Kosmo pants happily and licks the back of Keith’s hand with his wet tongue. “Let’s get you some breakfast, okay?”
Kosmo takes the lead and excitedly trots into the kitchen with Keith close behind.
The kitchen is completely done by now. Or rather, it was re-done. There ended up being even more boxes, which Keith doesn't remember hiding, in a closet in the hallway and almost all of them were kitchenware. Even more wedding gifts they haven’t had time to properly appreciate. Keith didn’t even know what some of the things were for.
It’s not a lie to say that Keith and Shiro are both incredibly busy, working people. It's natural in their line of work, of course, completely understandable. But they also deliberately put off making the final finishing touches for a ridiculous amount of time before Shiro finally had enough and started organising the place with stressed vigour. It was rather amusing to see and Keith spent the first half an hour just watching as Shiro carried boxes and mumbled to himself while wiping the sweat off of his forehead as he tried to find a way to fit all of the extra stuff they found into the bursting kitchen cabinets.
Eventually, Keith took pity on him and went to help him and that worked out for a while but it wasn’t long until they ended up fucking enthusiastically against the kitchen counter. That was kind of perfect, though. Keith grins as he opens the fridge door and peers into it consideringly.
Yes, that was nice, Keith thinks as he moves a carton of milk out of the way to get his hands on the butter. Shiro had been very sweaty. Hot from having lifted things all day and frustrated as hell, too.
Mm. Keith likes him particularly that way.
Kosmo thrusts his giant long nose under Keith’s armpit and almost lifts him in the air with his incredible strength. “Hey, watch it,” Keith yelps, too loudly, and immediately stiffens. He waits for a moment, completely still, afraid to move, but luckily there’s no noise from upstairs. Which means Shiro hopefully didn’t wake up yet.
Keith pushes Kosmo away with a disappointed look and Kosmo’s ears flop in shame as he goes to lie down on the cool floor with a mournful expression. It makes Keith rather amused, but he doesn’t say anything, just gathers a few more breakfast items and puts them on the counter island in the middle of the room. After that he feeds Kosmo and also remembers to change the stale water in Kosmo's drinking bowl into a fresh one.
Keith purses his lips and scratches the back of his neck. He stares at the ingredients on the counter. He’s never really been… imaginative with homemade foods. They usually don’t have time to cook for anything extravagant and Keith isn't the most skilled in the kitchen (though definitely better than Shiro), but it’s Saturday and Keith really wants to do something nice for his husband.
He stares at the ceiling for a moment before his eyes land on the big cookbook Hunk gave them as a wedding gift. It still stands proudly on the counter island where Keith left it all those weeks ago. Untouched and good as new. The Joy of Cooking, 200th Anniversary Edition, the cover states proudly.
Keith brushes his thumb against the letters and smiles for a moment, purely out of fondness for Hunk, before he starts flipping through the shining pages of the book. It’s lengthy and thick as hell but Keith manages to find the breakfast foods fairly easily among the hundreds of other recipes. Hunk has scribbled little notes and extra advice on some of them and it makes Keith’s smile turn into a grin.
Protein pancakes? No, too boring and weird. Breakfast muffins? No, Shiro isn’t fond of sweets in the morning. Eggs benedict? Definitely not for a number of reasons.
Keith frowns and nibbles on his fingernail. He feels oddly nervous about this-- something as simple as cooking breakfast for his overachieving husband. Stupid. He sighs and opens a page at random. Vegetable omelette? Fine.
Keith starts by cutting up some of those vegetables into slightly uneven slices. The cookbook gives rather vague suggestions about a possible filling, but Keith prepares some pepper, onion and tomato, though he’s definitely not sure if any of those things can even be put in an omelette. He also finds some kind of hot sauce from the fridge that is probably a few months old, but appears still usable after a quick estimation. It doesn’t smell bad, at least. Oh, and Shiro prefers fish over other meat. Is fish in an omelette a thing? Is that something people do? Shiro likes smoked salmon.
Keith sighs and closes his eyes. He’s not entirely sure about any of this, to be honest. He would pass a cooking class, sure, but is that enough? He just wants to be the best for Shiro.
It’s been a long while since they have had time for something quiet and pretty like a relaxed morning in a new apartment. It’s difficult to think that this is the life they have run away from. For so long. Not because they didn’t want this or because they were afraid of domesticity or shit like that ‒ it was just because they felt like they didn’t need it.
Keith breathes the air out of his lungs.
He didn’t quite realise how nice it was to have this.
Just this.
Shiro, Kosmo and a home.
So, the omelettes have appeared to be a rather bad idea. What an utter surprise.
It's a bit tragic: there’s way too much liquid even though Keith put exactly as many eggs as was advised for two omelettes. Maybe it was the tomatoes or the hot sauce. At least he didn’t end up putting any type of fish in the mix which was mostly because they didn’t have any. That might have been too much.
The main issue was trying to flip the omelette too early. The carefully placed fillings spread all over the too-hot pan and the fucking omelette is ripped apart by Keith's less than fluent cooking skills.
So naturally, it ends up being a huge fucking mess and Keith has to throw the whole thing into the bin with a grimace. It makes him ridiculously disappointed.
Here he is, trying to do something nice for his husband on a beautiful day like this and has completely failed. Keith leans his elbows on the counter and glares angrily at the completely innocent opposite wall.
“Baby.”
Shit.
There’s a big, strong arm wrapped around Keith’s slim waist and an impossibly tender, sleepy kiss pressed onto the bare skin of his shoulder peeking underneath the boring t-shirt Keith is wearing. Shiro hums under his breath, swaying Keith gently in a slow rhythm, their bodies pressed so close they're almost one entity. Shiro huffs into the mess of Keith’s hair that is pulled out of the way with the clips from the space market. Shiro still loves them ‒ calls him adorable because he’s so damn ridiculous sometimes.
And yet Keith still loves him ‒ will always fully and cosmically love him.
This is a thing that will never change in this world that isn’t fond of keeping still for too long.
“Morning,” Shiro murmurs eventually, voice scratchy and rough and, of course, so, so attractive it makes Keith shiver. His warm hand has found its way under Keith’s t-shirt, stroking his stomach and chest with his palm. Keith doesn’t answer him immediately, just enjoys their closeness and Shiro’s calming breaths against his skin.
But eventually,
“Hey,” Keith says and leans his head back onto Shiro’s chest stroking the short hair of Shiro's undercut at the back of his head. Keith's blunt nails gently scrape the scalp making Shiro sigh happily.
“You’re cooking breakfast, I see,” Shiro answers after a while. He’s clearly amused at the remains of the omelette carnage on the counter in front of them.
Keith groans. “An attempt was made,” he admits sheepishly but he feels weirdly embarrassed, too. "Didn’t really work out.”
Shiro chuckles under his breath and snuffles Keith’s hair. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says gently but failing at not sounding thoroughly entertained.
“The omelettes didn’t cooperate. Stupid things,” Keith says darkly, eyebrows clenched together in a stubborn frown. He doesn’t like failing ‒ not even in things as menial as breakfast.
“How dare they.”
Shiro pecks Keith’s ear but Keith’s groan is long and flustered. “Shut up,” he says, but of course he doesn’t mean it. Keith will never get tired of hearing Shiro’s voice and he won’t ever want to be without him. He will never be without him.
Never again.
Shiro laughs a little too loudly (Keith loves it) before manhandling Keith so that their chests meet each other in the middle. Shiro kisses Keith’s the tip of Keith’s nose that wrinkles afterwards.
“You’re cute,” he informs and it’s so reverent, Keiths’ breath actually catches. He almost wants to tell Shiro to shut it again but instead, he accepts his fate and flushes even more thoroughly. They’ve been married for a while now and Shiro still adores making Keith blush daily.
Again: a ridiculous man.
“You slept late,” Keith says instead of acknowledging Shiro’s absurd praise. Somehow the words come out almost accusing because of his irritation which is, in fact, the opposite of what Keith truly feels. If someone deserves to have a little late morning lie-in, it’s Admiral Takashi Shirogane.
“Mm,” Shiro mumbles before a big yawn. “Slept real good,” he continues. There's a familiar, rumbling undertone in his voice.
“I’m glad,” Keith murmurs. He’s happy. Right now. He will be so happy in the future, too, as long as he’s with Shiro. “You deserve it. Sorry that the surprise breakfast miserably failed.”
“I don’t mind,” Shiro says and he sounds like he truly means it. Shiro doesn’t really eat anything heavy for breakfast, anyway, Keith realises. “But there’s something else you could do for me,” Shiro continues almost casually but his skilled fingers toy with the waistband of Keith’s shorts.
“Mm-hm?”
Keith can play along. He’s good at that. He knows what makes Shiro tick.
“I saw good dreams," Shiro tempts and Keith knows, just knows, he’s grinning so happily that his dimples show. "Mm. They were very sexy."
“Oh?” Keith bites his lower lip. If he’s feeling cocky, he can admit that this isn’t actually out of the usual for Shiro. He’s kind of a menace. “Were I, perhaps, in those dreams?”
A pause. “It was Coran, actually,” Shiro says completely seriously and for a moment Keith gapes at him in surprise. Then he scowls.
“Jerk.”
“I couldn’t resist,” Shiro laughs.
Keith’s eyebrow rises. “So, are we going to fuck or not?”
“Most definitely,” Shiro growls under his breath and bites down onto Keith’s neck. He sounds hungry. But definitely not for food. The thought makes Keith swallow hard. He’s already ridiculously aroused, just from this small exchange of words between them.
But he can easily feel Shiro’s own condition against his ass, mostly because Shiro is so goddamn big. In all the good ways.
Keith can’t but feel a little smug-- he loves it when Shiro gets like this. He loves it when Shiro’s body is almost flexing out of want for him as he crowds Keith against the counter and lifts him by the hips to place him on top of the surface.
There are sometimes moments when he still can’t believe how much Shiro wants him. More rarely, he has doubts. But both of these things have grown fewer and fewer over the years. After they married Keith mostly feels only amazement.
Now, Keith grins happily as Shiro cups his jaw onto his giant palm and looks at him with a smile so genuine that his eye corners crinkle.
“I love you so much,” Shiro says finally.
“I know,” Keith answers sweetly before cupping Shiro’s crotch with his palm with a mischievous grin, making Shiro actually squeak in surprise.
They laugh and they kiss and fall into each other.
It’s good to be home.