[ wow. keith’s dishing out the low blows today. he’s sneaky about it too; sandwiching it between a patpat and a skim, so shiro is slowed down on the flutter of sensation that comes with each. the delay doesn’t amount to much though. shiro laughs and rolls his eyes, the accumulation of surprise, scandal, and humor slamming together to shove him into a reaction born from retaliation. with his leg pinned and his belly held hostage, shiro is so wrapped up in keith that the imbalance of their arrangement suddenly becomes unacceptable. so he twists around.

it’s a messy shifting of limbs but shiro is determined to face keith head on, grin, and huff: ]

Brat. [ head to the pillow, he’s got some space between their faces. he‘s undeterred by the closeness, likely due to him still chasing the joke, because in the next moment, he’s mimicking keith with a flick, though his lands at keith’s shoulder. ] My arm isn’t a hotplate.

[ he laughs again, softer this time. ]

… But I’ll admit, I’m kinda curious to see if we can make it work.

[ a pause. then he’s tutting, voice gone sarcastic: ]

Oh, excuse me, I mean see if you can make it work. [ he can only be blind to it for so long: the proximity is dawning on him. it has him feeling warm and… oddly reckless. they agreed to this. this is fine. he can look at keith slyly and finish the joke, there’s nothing wrong with their legs still all tangled up and shiro’s arm now hooking over keith’s, settling on the bed behind him. ]

I’m just the kitchen equipment and you’re the one handling me… that’s the deal, right?