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If he didn’t know any better, he would assume the mirror is faulty, because whatever the hell is staring back at him is not Lance McClain. It can’t be. Lance isn’t this thin — gaunt — Lance isn’t this pale, Lance isn’t so… flat-looking. He turns around, cataloguing all the scars he sees. There are a lot of them, more than he expected, criss-crossing his arms and torso. And, of course, the gnarled mass of pink scar tissue that makes up his back.
Lance does not like to think about his back.
He sighs. He forces himself to look away. He reaches for his fancy conditioner, the first time he’s used it in God knows how long, and catches sight of a raised line on his inner forearm from when a piece of shrapnel cut an artery and he needed emergency surgery. The line is an ugly purple colour. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Just because you’re ugly now doesn’t mean you’ve less value,” he says to himself. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but whatever. Maybe it will eventually.
“I think you’re beautiful.”
Keith’s voice comes out of nowhere, and it makes Lance jump.
“Jesus Christ,” Lance says, pressing a hand to his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”
Keith grins sheepishly. “Sorry, babe, didn’t mean to. You usually hear my heart beating across the country, I’m surprised you didn’t hear my footsteps.”
Lance shrugs. He looks down. “Distracted,” he says softly. He’s not looking at Keith’s face, but he feels the mood shift a little. There’s a loaded silence, as Lance looks pointedly and determinedly at his soap bottle and pretends that he is feeling Fine and Normal.
“Can I join you?” Keith says abruptly, gesturing to the shower.
Well. Wish granted, apparently. “Yeah, yeah, sure,” Lance says, nodding. He’s in the process of turning around so he almost misses it — but he sees it, through the mirror, as Keith pumps his fist and grins.
Lance bursts out laughing.
“What are you doing,” he wheezes. “Why were you celebrating.”
Keith goes red, but his face is very determined. “I’m about to shower with a certified hottie!” he insists. “I’m allowed to fist pump!”
“Certified hottie,” Lance gasps. He’s doubled over, he can barely catch his breath. Keith is such a goober, holy shit, he can’t handle it. ‘Certified hottie’? Who says that? Who says dorky things like that unironically?
“You are! You’re hot! I scored! I’m not going to apologise for thinking that!”
“Oh my God, you fucking dork. Get in the shower, you’re going to kill me.”
Keith obliges, even as he grumbles. His face is still a little red; he’s so fucking cute. He makes Lance want to kiss his face for eternity, just plant a smooch on every inch of him. So he does. (Kiss him, that is, although not for eternity.)
“You’re cute,” Lance says, before he pulls away. Keith grins.
“And you’re smokin’.”
Lance snorts, smacking Keith on the chest. “Shuddup and wash your hair, cowboy.”
Keith bites his ear playfully, but does reach over and grab the strawberry shampoo. (It is for children. It is literally one of those stupid little bottles of shampoo with some Disney character on it, for children. They bought it because neither of them should be allowed to be an adult and also only encourage each other’s stupid behaviour. It does smell really nice, though.)
They continue to wash up, regularly poking and teasing each other all the while. Keith complains about Lance taking all the hot water, as per usual. Lance complains about Keith’s stubborn insistence that he doesn’t need seperate conditioner and that 2in1 is fine, as usual. Lance trips three times and almost dies, as usual. Keith catches him every time and makes a garbage joke about Lance falling for him, as usual.
What is unusual is the trailing of gentle fingers along the mess of his back as Lance rinses the suds from his hair, followed by the press of a warm pair of lips.
“I meant it, you know,” Keith mumbles against Lance’s skin. “I genuinely think you’re beautiful. All of you. Not just hot, or smokin’, or a 10. You are more beautiful to me than the full moon and a sky full of stars. No, not even ‘to me’. Just, like, objectively. You are as breathtaking as the sparkling of the ocean.”
Keith presses a kiss to a different part of his back, a little lower this time.
“As gorgeous as a summer sunset.”
Another kiss, this one on his right shoulder.
“As ethereal as a forest in the early morning.”
The back of Lance’s neck.
“As sublime as a thunderstorm.”
His left shoulder.
“Lance,” Keith turns him around, so they’re facing each other. The tears on Lance’s cheeks are hidden by the steam, but Keith knows him. He kisses them away, pressed as close as their bodies will allow. “You are more beautiful than the most awe-inspiring parts of the Earth, and you outshine the sun. No part of you is ugly. I mean it. Every part of you is precious to me.”
“I see you’ve become a poet since we’ve been back on Earth,” Lance says, because if he doesn’t break the tension at least a little he will the the one breaking down into sobs.
Keith hums, smiling wryly. “Only for you, my love.”
Lance sniffles. He wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, shoving his face in his neck.
“I love you so much,” he says.
“I love you too,” Keith says. He clears his throat. “And, uh, not to ruin the moment, but I’ve been out of the hot water for like 10 minutes now and I think my balls might actually freeze off. Can we maybe get out and get dried, and resume cuddling on the couch?”
Lance bursts out laughing until the tears in his eyes are for an entirely different reason. “Yes, oh my God, let’s rinse off.”
After they’ve gotten dressed, as they’re cuddling on the couch and mouthing along to every line in Journey to the Centre of the Earth, Lance looks at the man who makes him feel like he couldn’t possibly be anything but valuable and thinks he’s really, really lucky.