Keith Glances Up From The Sketchbook In His Lap, Comparing The Drawing To Lance As He Naps Next To Him

Keith glances up from the sketchbook in his lap, comparing the drawing to Lance as he naps next to him leaning against him with Kosmo at their backs, the warm spring afternoon sun washing over them.

There's a calmness in all of this that they don't get a lot of, not with running humanitarian and relief missions all over the literal universe. It's been several years since the end of the war, the Coalition is going strong as ever, but there are still hostile planets. They take those missions themselves with a few trusted members.

They've come back to Earth to visit Lance's family and spend some time with them, and get a bit of rest from all the running around. There's a calmness in Lance's face that he hasn't seen in a while, even in his sleep, and guilt pools in his stomach that he didn't realize it sooner. He knows Lance wouldn't fault him for it, they're both very busy both during missions and between them, and even in the calm moments they can't fully relax -- the years and years of fighting are so ingrained in their bodies that they're always expecting something to go wrong.

Looking back at the sketchbook, it hits him just how much of Lance he has committed to memory. The way his bangs sweep over his forehead and how Keith brushes them aside to press a kiss on it when he leaves early in the morning and Lance isn't awake yet. The thin brows over his deep blue eyes, ones he's smoothed his thumbs over before pulling him into a kiss. The gentle slope of his nose, with the bump where he broke it during a mission a few years back. The freckles dusting his cheek, the ones that Keith connects like constellations. His thin lips, soft and warm against his. The small, white cut that's barely visible on his chin where he cut himself shaving once. The mole under his jaw, near his ear that's made for Keith to kiss.

The blue Altean marks under his eyes, a reminder of what they've gone through that left them a little broken and incomplete, but also a comfort that those who left them will live on through their memories and stories.

He has all of Lance's expressions catalogued, tucked away in a neat little box. The furrow of his brows, the way he gnaws on his lips when he's deep in thought. How his eyes light up, crinkling at the corners and how his grin is lopsided, revealing his slightly crooked teeth whenever Keith makes him laugh. The way he scrunches his nose when something doesn't go his way. He thinks he could fill shelves upon shelves with all the different ways he could draw Lance, and he wouldn't even need to look at him.

Lance stirs next to him, burrowing his face in Keith's shoulder. Keith lifts his free hand, and cards through his hair.

"Sleep well?"

Lance only nods, and takes a deep breath. "I wanna stay like this forever."

"Even when it rains?" He asks, trying and failing to suppress a smile. "Even during hurricane season?"

Lance lifts his head to look at him properly. "Don't be stupid. Of course even then. You and Kosmo give off enough heat for me to steal."

"And what about the water?"

"We're not made of sugar, we're not going to melt."

Keith just laughs, and presses a fleeting kiss to Lance's lips. "You'd be the first to complain about how the clothes stick to you."

"I would not," he pouts, and Keith can't help it.

He brings Lance closer, their breaths mingling in the small space between them before he captures Lance's lips in a proper kiss. He loses himself in the feeling, the way Lance's fingers find their way into his hair, the softness of his lips, the way he has to swallow a little whimper as he kisses Lance at just the right angle.

The sketchbook and the pencil fall off his lap, and Lance pulls away to pick it up. He looks at the page Keith was drawing on, and a teasing smile pulls on his lips.

"What, do you have a crush on me that you drew me? That's so cute."

Keith just looks at him with his eyebrows raised. "We literally just made out and have been dating for years, but sure, go with that."

"Don't be a grumpypants, babe," Lance says, his eyes twinkling happily.

"Don't call me that."

Despite having years to get used to Lance's pet names, they still make him blush, but honestly, he's just so in love that he doesn't care. Not anymore.

"What, grumpypants?"

"Yeah."

"Or what?"

"I'm gonna make you regret it."

"Will you, now?"

"Absolutely."