MD_Hunter_Poshtron
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Summary
He paused, struck by how Lance had filled out—lean muscle carving his arms and chest, a far cry from the scrawny kid he’d known. Keith’s throat went dry, and Lance caught him staring, smirking.
“Like the view?” Lance teased, flexing exaggeratedly as he tossed Keith a pair of flannel pajama pants.
Keith rolled his eyes, stepping closer. “You wish.” But his voice was softer, edged with something real, and Lance’s grin widened.
“Oh, I know you do,” he quipped, tugging on his own pajama shirt. The flirting escalated—Lance tossing out a “Looking pretty good yourself, New York,” Keith firing back with “Better than you, college boy”—until Keith tackled him onto the bed, pinning him in a mock fight. The laughter faded fast, replaced by a thick, heavy silence. Lance’s hands slid up Keith’s arms, and then they were kissing—fierce and messy, all pent-up want spilling out. Clothes came off in a rush—shirts, pants, boxers hitting the floor—until they were bare, skin against skin, the fairy lights casting soft shadows over them.