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It’s a Saturday morning, which means no class, no pressing deadlines, and no empty space beside him in bed—score. Lance curls his entire body around Keith, body hunching to fit his on top of Keith’s manly exposed pecs.
“Wake up so I can properly swoon over you,” Lance says, fingers poking at Keith’s face. Without opening his eyes, Keith pretends to bite Lance’s fingers.
“Don’t startle me like that!” Lance wiggles his body violently until Keith has no choice but to wake up just enough to roll over and pin down his boyfriend with his entire weight. It’s not that Keith is so heavy Lance can’t buck him off, but Lance’s shirt rode up just a sliver so their tummies are touching and feeling Keith breathing makes him vaguely ticklish, like their body contact is making his insides sparkle.
Instead, Lance traps Keith with his arms and legs like a very attractive four-limbed octopus—quatropus?—and squeezes as hard as he can. That is—until Keith worms out a single finger and pokes him in the ribs, and suddenly they’re both bending at a near 90 degree angle when Lance flinches hardcore.
“Stop it, let me cuddle you in peace!” Keith opens his mouth to speak or something, so Lance almost violently shushes him, probably flinging morning breath and spit at his boyfriend’s face like a smelly mini-Hadouken. He probably deserves it when Keith tickles him so hard he falls off the bed spazzing.
“We are supposed to have a peaceful and fluffy Saturday morning! What is wrong with you?!” Lance climbs back onto the bed, stuffing a pillow between his legs and getting comfortable.
“You started it,” Keith grumbles, trying to take his pillow back, “and give it back, my head is supposed to go there.”
A pause.
Lance guffaws, laughing so hard he barely reacts when Keith yanks his pillow back and starts whopping him with it.
“MY HEAD GOES ON THE PILLOW, NOT BETWEEN YOUR LEGS! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER!”
“I didn’t,” Lance wheezes, “I didn’t say anything!”
“You were thinking it! Don’t think I don’t know what you think!”
“And what am I thinking now?”
“That breakfast burritos aren’t real unless you make it yourself,” Keith says. But only because they have this argument every Saturday morning because it’s supposed to be Keith’s turn to cook. Keith doesn’t cook on Saturdays.
“BECAUSE THEY AREN’T! Do you want to eat real eggs? Or do you want to eat flavored plastic? Do you want me to eat flavored plastic? Do you even care about me?”
Keith lays down on his back, hands pillowing his head and crossing his legs as he says, “It tastes good though.”
Lance peers down at his boyfriend with narrowed eyes, trying not to make it obvious his attention keeps shifting back and forth between showing how displeased he is with Keith’s answer and wanting to drool over his boyfriend’s biceps and goddamn triceps. It is very obvious if the way Keith bites his lips and knowingly raises his eyebrows is any indication, which is playing dirty as fuck. “Don’t change the subject,” Lance says, flopping into Keith’s waiting arms. It’s not even noon yet, but he already feels exhausted. Or more like, he could totally fall asleep all over again with the light streaming through the windows and cocooned by the person he trusts with his heart the most in the entire universe.
He doesn’t have to look up to know Keith is staring at him with googly eyes, because Lance would be staring back with googly-er eyes if he wasn’t preoccupied with playing footsie with Keith, trying to steal Keith’s big toe with his toes like a weird game of thumb wars with their feet. Keith is surprisingly strong, but Lance likes to think he has toes of steel, or like probably part fish in his past life.
“Are you going to start making breakfast?”
“Are you going to start making breakfast?” Keith makes to get up, but Lance pushes him back down. Sweet relief for the smug motherfucker.
“I’ll make breakfast,” Lance grouses, shuffling into his slippers and adjusting his briefs. Keith admires the back of Lance’s long legs as he walks out the door.
“Love you,” Keith says, grinning fondly when Lance flips him off.
-
When he can smell Lance scrambling the eggs and toasting the tortilla, Keith slinks into the kitchen to make himself some coffee and help set the table. There is a small vase on the table with a bunch of hand plucked daisies from the school gardens probably. Keith can’t understand why it’s necessary but Lance keeps telling him that it makes their place look spruced up. (“We have to have Instagram-worthy aesthetics, Keith! Aesthetics!”) Keith still isn’t sure what their aesthetic is supposed to be.
“Orange juice or apple?” Lance hums, transferring the eggs onto the heated tortillas.
“I think I feel like apple juice today—no wait, orange. Apple? Orange. For sure.”
“Final answer?”
He pours himself a mug of coffee in the hand-painted red mug Lance got him for their first anniversary; it says ‘#1 boyfriend’ with a bunch of hearts around it. Somehow he has a feeling Lance originally meant to keep it for himself.
“Final answer.” Keith takes out the orange juice, pouring Lance’s juice in a mug that says ‘also #1 boyfriend’ on it. Originally, Lance wanted to get them couple tee shirts, but Keith said he would burn them immediately like the party pooper that he is.
“This is real breakfast,” Lance says, one hand on his hip, other hand brandishing a spatula like a buttery magic wand.
“Thanks babe, knew I could count on you. It looks good,” Keith says, kissing Lance’s cheek in appreciation.
“Duh? I made it,” Lance says, pulling out a seat for himself. Sometimes the thought that Keith can rely on him for things, and does rely on him for some things, makes him want to projectile vomit glitter—just because, Lance thinks he would probably die if he had to live without Keith but Keith would probably be okay without Lance?
Of course, in the future, they’ll eventually talk about this when Keith asks (without fucking thinking) ‘why do you have to be so fucking clingy’ and not notice Lance’s face freezing before he slinks off to find Hunk and refuse to leave his best friend’s bed until Keith properly apologizes with roses and a homemade tray of fun shapes mac n cheese (from the box). And after that, they’ll talk about Keith’s emotional constipation as well because he also has flaws—like despite being the top of their class in university, he can’t figure out normal people wouldn’t equate ‘you’re my fucking moron’ to ‘I think I would forget what happy feels like if I couldn’t wake up to your smile every morning.’
But for now, Lance just peppers Keith’s face with kisses like a fucking woodpecker on a mission. “Lance, I’m trying to eat. Go away.”
“Never!” Lance practically smashes a particularly slobbery kiss to Keith’s cheek and pretends to shield himself with his cup of orange juice when Keith waves his homemade burrito at Lance mock-threateningly.
“Is it good?” Keith takes a big bite, nodding his head. Lance has been making him breakfast burritos since they started dating, just because it was one of those a-ha moments that started it all.
They had only been dating for like a month when Lance had asked Keith during their morning class why the breakfast burrito he brought with him had gray animal pellets—aka generic sausage—before dragging him to his dorm for real food. Keith had offhandedly said ‘I would marry you for your cooking’ when Lance added chorizo to a homemade breakfast burrito and tucked in a bunch of cheese. Lance asked ‘what if my cooking was shit?’ and Keith was startled about how much he didn’t give a fuck. But instead he said something like ‘I’d marry you for your ass’ so Lance just had to ask while Keith was eating ‘what if we grow old and I have a saggy, wrinkly ass?’ Keith had to put the burrito down. (But if you ask him now, growing old with Lance is definitely part of his life goals, right next to becoming a space pilot.)
Lance hums happily, bringing his feet up to curl around the edge of his seat and starting on his own burrito. Unless they’re surrounded by their friends, Lance is perfectly fine eating in a comfortable silence with Keith at their small table. It wasn’t always this way, but Lance likes to say they’ve become a domesticated couple with a pinch of pride in his voice—and then Keith will do something like drink milk from the carton and send Lance into a small fit about how that’s gross. And then Keith usually says something like ‘At least you know where my mouth’s been.’ Fun stuff.
Keith finishes his food first, sipping his coffee while scrolling the notifications on his phone. Hunk shared a couple links to videos of small animals doing cute things, so Keith scoots over and puts his phone in the middle, one arm resting on the back of Lance’s chair, so Lance can make loud exclamations about how they need to adopt five hundred kittens and name them after every color in a company sized Crayola box and then some.
“I am not naming a kitten asparagus. That sounds ugly as a color and a cat name.”
“Asparagus would be a cute cat! And we could nickname it Gus; that would be cute.” Lance noisily slurps the last remainders of his orange juice before handing it to Keith with the rest of their dirty dishes.
“Whatever you say, babe. Anyways, Pidge wants to know if we’re coming over later to pick up your phone.”
“They already repaired my screen? That was fast,” Lance comments, “we should stop by for dinner because Hunk is making it.”
“Hella,” Keith says, scrubbing their plates. Lance digs his chin onto Keith’s shoulder, arms circling Keith’s waist, lazily scrolling through Keith’s phone and sending a dozen happy emojis to Pidge. Keith taps on Lance’s arms a couple times to try to get him to let go, but they end up waddling like penguins to the bathroom together to brush their teeth.
-
Lance hands Keith his toothbrush and Keith squirts a generous amount of toothpaste onto both of their toothbrushes. “You know you only need a pea sized amount right?”
“Pea sized amounts are for losers.”
“You’re a loser.”
“You’re dating a loser, so who’s the loser by association now?”
“Shut up,” Lance says, shoving Keith repeatedly so he keeps bumping against the sink counter. Keith brushes his teeth vigorously in up and down, and side to side motions. Lance brushes his teeth in slower, circular motions, just like how his mama taught him. Keith finishes brushing his teeth first, flossing, and rinsing with mouthwash because Lance won’t make out with “a cavity farmer” otherwise.
When Lance finishes a million years later, they stare at their reflections in the mirror, baring their teeth and making funny faces. Mirror selfies are totally a thing that aren’t a thing anymore, but they take a few anyways with Keith’s phone. Lance positions the camera slightly low, capturing how Keith is sweetly nosing the area around his neck. As soon as the shutter goes off, Keith blows a raspberry into Lance’s neck and runs back to their room before Lance can catch him.
“That felt fucking weird, you weirdo!” Lance lets out a battle cry before tackling Keith back onto the bed.
“Your weirdo,” Keith says, thumbs slipping just past the waistbands of Lance’s briefs, pressing lightly. Lance thinks Keith is ridiculously good at getting Lance out of his underpants, and considers hacking into Keith’s LinkedIn to write it down as one of his skillsets.
“My weirdo,” Lance agrees, right before he dives into the juncture between Keith’s shoulder and neck and blows the loudest raspberry in the world.
“Fuck! Lance!” Keith jerks, shoving his boyfriend off his lap.
“Payback’s a bitch, babe!” And it’s like totally cool if they have a pillow fight because who’s going to judge them? Apparently, Lance’s mom, who they’ve accidentally called in the middle of their fight.
“Hello? Mrs. McClain? Yes, this is Keith. No, nothing’s wrong—ow, Lance, quit it. Hm? Oh yeah, he’s just being a fucking ass.” Lance can hear his mama chewing Keith out for his word choice. “Right, sorry, I meant to say that he’s being a fruiting butt.”
Snatching the phone away from Keith, Lance starts speaking rapid Spanish to his mama, settling between Keith’s legs while he whines about how much he misses her and catches up on family gossip. For lack of better things to do, Keith presses his lips at the base of Lance’s nape and trails kisses over his shoulders while Lance plays with one of his hands.
“She wants to invite us over next weekend. Want to go?”
“Sure, tell her I love her paella.”
“She already knows that, but I’ll tell her anyways,” Lance says, rolling his eyes before refocusing on his conversation with his mom. Keith doesn’t really understand what they’re saying but he listens to their excited chattering anyways. Lance made it a point that Keith was always welcome in their family, so Keith said something at the time like ‘are you asking me to marry you?’ and Lance became so red that Keith thought he was going to combust. Red is a good color on Lance.
When Lance finally hangs up half an hour later, Keith finds out that he’s been invited to Lance’s third cousin’s wedding and they’re super close so Lance absolutely has to go. Keith doesn’t really understand it, but he doubts Lance would take no as an answer anyways.
“Oh my god,” Lance gushes, “we can finally wear matching bowties! We’ll be the cutest couple there!”
“Shouldn’t that be the bride and groom?” Lance frowns.
“Okay, second best. But this time is an exception.” Keith rolls his eyes, pretending to tune out Lance by closing his eyes and pretending to snore. Lance twists one of Keith’s nipples and promptly gets shoved away.
“Lance! You know how I feel about my nipples!”
“What? They’re small and cute! Just like your di—” Lance doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Keith reaches down and tugs the bottom of Lance’s briefs up, ensuring the wedgie of a lifetime (and a really good view of Lance’s tiny bubble butt). Honestly, they’re both probably sabotaging any potential they have of being a cute domesticated couple.
“Hey! Don’t stretch them out! I got these for Christmas!”
“I was the one that got them for you!”
“I had to put it on my amazon wish list!”
Keith grudgingly lets Lance win their argument this once, just because it’s pretty much true that Keith isn’t the best at figuring people out. It’s one of the many good qualities about Lance that Keith likes: he’s really accommodating and pretends like Keith never fumbles with the small stuff in their relationship.
“You’re the only thing on my wish list,” Keith says, puckering his lips for a kiss.
Lance kisses him automatically, but also he says, “So you don’t want that bike part I was thinking about getting you on Cyber Monday?”
Keith wavers.
Lance snorts, “You know I’d get it for you anyways.”
“Love you,” Keith says cheekily.
“Love you too,” Lance says, lacing their fingers together.
-
They do end up falling asleep again, but it’s completely accidental. By the time they wake up again from their nap, it’s already afternoon.
Deciding to completely waste their day, they break out a couple bags of chips and start a game of Five Nights at Freddy’s with Lance’s laptop hooked up to their television screen in the living room and blinds closed for added effect. Lance eats Doritos Cool Ranch because he doesn’t want to choose Nacho Cheesy like normal people and Keith goes with the ever so classic Hot Cheetos. Keith totally relishes in the way Lance goes from small jumps in his seat to screaming out loud about how much he hates the game—there is definitely crushed chip pieces flung all over their couch. Keith probably wouldn’t be able to finish the 5th night as calmly as he did if he wasn’t so hyper-focused on making Lance think he never loses his cool.
They’re walking through an eerie hallway in the game when Keith’s phone rings and they both scream bloody murder. It’s just Pidge, asking when they’re going to come over.
“I’m emotionally distressed so I can’t drive right now,” Lance tells Pidge dramatically.
“I can drive,” Keith offers.
“Didn’t you get your driver’s license taken away?” Pidge snickers over the phone, listening to Keith grumble about how he definitely wasn’t driving over 40 miles-per-hour in a residential area.
“Yeah, we’ll come over soon. Just let us take a shower first. Freddy can probably smell fear,” Lance says.
“He’s not real,” Pidge says, although they definitely was shook the first time they played too. (But no one has to know that.)
“We’ll be over in an hour,” Keith says, following Lance to the bathroom.
“Are you planning on showering with Lance?”
“Yeah?”
“Guess that means we’ll see you guys in two hours.”
“Not even!”
“Try not to fuck too long, Hunk’s casserole tastes best when it’s hot.”
Pidge hangs up before Keith can try to come up with a proper comeback.
Lance pulls up the hem of his shirt and tugs it off. The hickies from last night are still there. “Are you coming in or what?”
Well. Keith is okay with admitting Pidge is never wrong.