something sappy

"Do you think I'm fat?"

"What?"

"Fat. Do you think I've gotten fat?" Keith pulled his shirt up and turned sideways in front of the mirror, sucking in his stomach as he posed. He frowned and let the breath out.

Lance looked up from the book he read for the briefest of moments before shrugging and burying his nose into the book once more. "I don't know. Maybe."

"Gee, thanks."

"Oh come on, Keith, how am I supposed to respond to that?" Keith gave Lance a Look and Lance sighed. "No. You don't look fat at all. You're still as skinny as you were when I first met you. Despite the fact that you were only twelve years old and weighed sixty pounds."

"You're a wretched liar, do you know that?" Keith frowned again, brow furrowing as he turned and twisted before the mirror. "I have love handles. Why do I have love handles?"

"So I have something to grip you by?" Lance put down his book and turned off the bedside light, snuggling down beneath the covers.

"Ha, ha. But seriously, have I gotten fat, Lance?"

"What does it matter? Come to bed, Keith."

"It matters a lot. " Keith sighed flicked off the light, before picking his way across the darkened room. "I'm going to start running tomorrow."

"You always say you're going to start running tomorrow. You never do."

"But this time I will. Because this time, *you're* going running with me."

"Why? I'm not the one who thinks he's fat."

"You're supposed to be supporting me in this, Lance."

"I am. I just don't see why I have to support you by suffering myself."

"Hmph."

"Why me? Why did I have to get the picky one? Why couldn't I have fallen in love with...Sven? Or Hunk? I bet they wouldn't ask me if I thought the were fat. But noooo. I had to get stuck with the insecure one."

"Oh shut up. I can't believe you're making fun of me."

"Oh for the love of--Come here." Keith squeaked as Lance grabbed him, pulling his lover closer in the darkness. Lance kissed Keith on the nose, teeth glowing softly in the darkness. "I told you that your love handles were useful."

Keith glared back at Lance. "Keep this up and you're sleeping on the couch."

"But we don't have a couch."

"Fine. You're sleeping on the floor. In the hallway. With the Space Mice."

"Well, I suppose I'll just have to do something so that I don't end up banished to the hallway. " Lance kissed Keith again, this time on the lips. "Keith, I don't care if you get fat, or start to lose your hair--"

"I'm losing my hair?" Keith's hands flew to his head in a panic.

Lance rolled his eyes. "No, you're not. This is hypothetically speaking, Keith."

"Oh."

"ANYway, I don't care if you aren't as hypothetically as handsome as you used to be. I'm not so shallow as to care about something like that. I love you, Keith, for who you are; not what you look like. So you could become a bald, three hundred pound man with terminal bad breath and a penchant for bad movies and I would still love you." Lance kissed Keith's neck, buried his head in the small crook between neck and shoulder. "I love you. Love handles and all."

Keith was silent for a moment, before pulling away and smiling slightly. "Nice try, Lance, but you're still sleeping in the hall."

"Fine." Lance rolled out of bed and grabbed his pillow. He made his way to the door, cursing slightly as he tripped over a shoe. He paused right before exiting, turning back to Keith who stretched out across their shared bed. "It was the love handles remark, wasn't it."

"Yep."

"Knew it." Lance sighed and stepped outside, looking for a suitable place to bed down for the night.

"Good night, Lance, m'love," Keith called out as the door started to slide closed.

"Good night, Keith." And Lance smiled as he settled down to sleep.

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