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“Shiro! Shiro! Shirrrrrrrrrrrrro!” Cradled against Shiro’s chest in the elevator, being carried back to their apartment Lance dissolved into giggles and patted Shiro on the head, “yer strrrronnnng! Hey! Hey! Guess what?”
Shiro sighed, he already knew what was coming, “what, baby?”
“I broke my foot!” He lifted the aforementioned foot and pointed at it. Just in case Shiro couldn’t tell which of his feet was encased in a walking cast.
“Yes, I know. We just spent several hours at the ER getting that taken care of.” He couldn’t quite figure out if pain-med-loopy Lance was adorable or annoying. He seemed to be straddling the line between the two. Either way it was better than seeing him in so much pain that his tan skin was ashy and pale, and the ever present smile had been replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. If he never saw his boyfriend like that again, he’d be happy.
“Oh yeah,” he dropped his head to Shiro’s shoulder, “I like these pankeller… pinkalor… pay-n ki-lerrrrrrrs. Pain. Killers. I like’em.”
That made him laugh, Lance had had to concentrate so hard to get that phrase out properly… and he looked so proud for managing it. It was cute. “Good. It’s nice to see you smiling again.” The elevator chimed and he maneuvered them through the doors with ease, but he was very glad that they lived in the apartment closest to them. Lance wasn’t overly heavy, but Shiro had already been tired by the time they’d been given the okay to head home and he’d feel much better about the entire situation once he had Lance settled away on the couch with that foot elevated. “We’re home, Lance. Hang tight, just let me get the door.”
Lance clung, smiling besottedly at him as he shifted and jostled and fiddled with the keys, letting them into the apartment. “I can’t believe Keith broke my foot!”
“Keith didn’t break your foot. It was an accident.”
“Keith sucks at sports,” he pouted and Shiro sighed again. It really should not be so cute. A grown man should not look so damn charming when he pouted. Maybe Keith was right about him being sickeningly smitten with his boyfriend? They’d been together for years. Living together for over a year and he still felt that giddy rush that he’d always associated with the start of a relationship.
“I don’t understand how you convinced him to play basketball in the first place.” Kicking the door shut behind them, he strode the short distance to the couch and gingerly set Lance down, pulling throw pillows from the lounger to prop up his foot.
“Psssshhhhht… that was easssy! I just said he didn’t want to play because he knew he’d lose! Bam!” He clapped dramatically, “one game of Horse!”
“And then you got WAY too competitive and ended up rolling your ankle and snapping TWO bones in your foot.”
“Uhhhh because Keith STEPPED on it! Hey! Shiro!”
“Yes, Lance?”
“You should sing to me!”
His eyebrows ratcheted up, “sing to you?”
“Yeah,” the smile on Lance’s face was very close to irresistible, “I love when you sing.”
“When do I sing?”
“Ummmm… in the shower, an’uhhhh… oh! When you are driving! And when you wash the dishes… and when the radio plays our song-” He gasped, “sing me our song!”
“Our song? We don’t have a song. What song?”
“The one from the party!”
Yeah. Sure. THAT cleared up and confusion he might be having about this supposed song of ‘theirs’. They’d been dating since Lance’s junior year at their college. Despite being older, Shiro had been a sophomore, because he had come back to school after a few years of travel. They’d ended up in a couple of the same clubs and had mutual friends- Keith being one of them. Oh. Wait. THAT song. “Lance, that song is ridiculous. It isn’t even singing! It’s deliberately bad rapping!”
“Don’t care- sing to me! I’m hurt!”
“I don’t even remember how it starts.”
“Just start wherever- God… you are sooooo preeeetty! I have the most handsomest boyfriend ever! Please? It’ll make me smile...”
“Alright… fine… but I still say it doesn’t count as singing. We like sports and we don't care who knows; From shooting hoops, to the Super Bowl; We like sports and we don't care who knows; Football football football, tennis hockey golf…”
It was a stupid novelty song from like a decade ago, but Lance loved it. One of their first dates had been to a party thrown by a friend of a friend of a friend and the people there were VERY different from their usual crowd of friends. When this song started up, half the room had started singing along. It wasn’t until the second chorus that they’d realized that most of them weren’t cluing in that the song was satirical. They just… loved sports and related to the guys in the song. It had become a bit of an inside joke between them. He felt like a bit of an idiot, but Lance was practically glowing with happiness.
“Now when I say SPORTS, you say NUTS; Sports!”
“Nuts,” giggled Lance, chiming in on the chant.
“Sports!”
“Nuts!"
Shiro sat beside him on the couch, brushing the soft brown hair back from his face tenderly. “When I say CHEATING, you say SUCKS; Cheating!”
“Sucks!”
“Cheating!”
“Sucks!”
“I drink whiskey cause I like the taste; You think it's bitter but I think it's great..”
“I also drink whiskey and we smoke cigars,” responded Lance- it was only half true. Shiro liked whiskey but Lance didn’t and very, very rarely, Lance would smoke a cigar, but Shiro never touched them. The lyrics were the lyrics though- there wasn’t much he could do about that.
“Don't believe me? Smell our cars; We're real men, and we like sports; If you say we're not then we'll see you in court; I'm team captain and I choose you…”
“I'm the other team captain and I choose you, too! Hehehehehe,” Lance’s face scrunched up as he laughed and just like that, Shiro went all breathless and smitten. “I choose you, Shiro. That’s TRUW! That’s US!”
“You are so high on those meds!” His voice was soft, indulgent laughter dancing around the edges a little, “but yeah… it’s true. I choose you, too, baby.”