Chapter Text
Alteans, despite all their technological advancements and incredibly futuristic tools, had nothing that even remotely resembled a sewing kit.
Apparently ancient alien races had outgrown the need for such things, and made clothing that wasn’t designed to tear.
Or maybe they had robots that fixed torn seams and missing buttons for them, stowed away in some lower part of the castle.
Keith wasn’t sure, but needless to say he had looked, and come up disappointingly empty. He’s even stooped so low as to ask the mice for help, as he’d seen in a movie once...just to see.
Now he was forever going to wonder what three squeaks and tail whip meant.
It was infuriating, and Keith was growing impatient.
Who the heck designs a ship without so much as a needle and thread!
Even his small shack back on Earth had had those items, and Keith had gotten fairly decent at repairing his own items, prolonging their lives beyond what they were designed for.
It was a skill he prided himself in; one that most people wouldn’t outright know he possessed. Which was why he was a bit pissed to find absolutely nothing to help prevent the small tear in his jacket from growing more.
I could just ask Allura or Coran...
But the thought of having someone else fix his things was just...strange. Foreign, unknown...homey. Keith wasn’t used to others offering him help. He had gotten by on his own just fine thank you very much, and the lessons he had learned along the way were of his own business.
I can fix it myself. I just need to find something small enough...
Pidge, luckily, had an abundance of smallish items strewn randomly in her Lion’s hangar, and though she hadn’t been there for him to ask permission, Keith didn’t see the harm in him borrowing several thin pieces of wiring and a long, leathery cord.
This should work.
An hour later Keith was re-evaluating his thoughts.
“Ouch, dammit!” he cursed, sucking his thumb to ward off the sharp pinprick of pain that would soon blossom after having the wire slip and poke his finger.
He had managed to form the pieces into a make-shift needle, and had been relatively proud of himself at the time. The cord, however, was less cooperative.
It kept slipping out of the gadget he had crafted, falling to the floor and forcing Keith to abandon his efforts in order to look for it.
When he had finally managed to keep it within the confines of the wire, he soon discovered that the material of his jacket may be a tad too strong for the needle to pierce.
Another twenty minutes spent re-designing the tool, and finally, finally, Keith had made the first hole. And then the cord had been too thick to pass through.
“Ah fuck me,” he muttered, rapidly losing hope.
“Gee, well,” a voice said from behind him, “if you insist.”
Keith didn’t spare Lance a look as he heard the boy enter the room. He was too focused on trying to section off a thinner piece of the cord with his knife, and though his cheeks flared at the comment his boyfriend had made, he was growing more used to the relentless flirts.
Besides, I’ll make do on that later.
The couch dipped beside him, and still Keith kept his focus on his actions. Cutting cord with a knife was a lot more difficult than Keith had been expecting.
And then he saw Lance’s hands slide across the cushions towards his thigh, tracing patterns in the fabric of his pants, and suddenly everything got a lot harder.
In...more than one sense of the word.
“Keeiiittthhh,” Lance drawled, scooting closer when his hands were ignored. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! All day it feels like.”
Keith spared him a grunt, narrowing his eyes as he struggled to keep the line straight as he cut. Lance moved in closer, until his side was flat against Keith’s, and then warm fingers could be felt walking across his torso.
Keith shivered despite the heat Lance provided, and shook his head slightly to try and focus.
I’m almost done, just need to cut this a little longer-
Lips made contact with the skin at his neck, and Keith froze, letting his eyes shut as he worked to keep the knife in his grasp from slipping.
“Lance,” he mumbled gruffly, “I’m busy.”
Lance didn’t reply, instead moving his mouth to plant a small peck along Keith’s collarbone.
Keith bit his tongue, preventing the groan from escaping his throat as he felt Lance’s tongue dart out and draw tiny patterns along his skin.
Damn flirt. Can’t he see I’m holding a very sharp knife?!
As much as Keith wanted to abandon the task of making the cord more user friendly, his jacket still needed repairing. And if Keith had to fix it with Lance leaving a trail of kisses up his neck, then so be it. He couldn’t always be dropping everything just to make-out with his boyfriend, no matter how pleasing the idea was.
Focus.
So he did. Keith opened his eyes, doing his best to ignore Lance as he shifted on the couch, angling himself to better reach Keith’s jawline.
Considering the distraction, Keith was able to finish cutting through the cord without cutting off his own fingers, and held it up with a victorious cheer.
Lance paused what he was doing, his mouth having moved up to give Keith’s cheeks some attention, and glanced over at what Keith held.
“Did you just ‘a-ha’ a piece of leather?”
Keith nodded, setting his knife down and attempting once again to use his homemade needle to mend his jacket. He could feel Lance watching him, and the added pressure of an audience made his fingers clammy and less precise.
The needle slipped, poking through the jacket and piercing his thumb on the other side.
Keith yelped, dropping the coat and frowning as red bubbled to the surface of his skin. Before he could bring it to his mouth however, Lance reached out and grabbed his wrist, bringing it to his own lips and planting another small kiss there.
Keith watched, his stomach dropping pleasantly like it did whenever he flew Red, and he finally let his eyes wander up to Lance’s face.
“What are you-”
“Kissing it better,” Lance interrupted, knowing what Keith was about to ask. He set Keith’s hand down, patting it gently, and then frowned down at the jacket on the floor. “More importantly, what are you doing?”
Keith felt his face redden. Though he and Lance had been dating for a while, Keith had yet to tell him about his sewing proficiency. It wasn’t like it was some big secret that he wanted to keep to himself; more like something he just hadn’t brought up.
He was...sort of nervous about what Lance would say should he find out.
Too late for that now.
“There’s a rip in my jacket, so I’m trying to fix it.”
There. Done.
Lance hummed, his face blank as he reached down to pick up the article of clothing. He turned it over in his hands, until he found the spot Keith was speaking of. The needle and cord were still secured within the fabric, and Lance tapped them lightly before staring up at Keith.
“Do you not have a sewing kit?”
Keith huffed, folding his arms over his chest as he explained.
“Not on me, no. And I searched the castle but there’s nothing close enough. So I made my own.”
A small smile twisted up the corners of Lance’s mouth, and Keith prepared himself for the onslaught of teasing about his archaic ways. But the laugh never came. In fact, Lance leaned forward, pressed a quick kiss to Keith’s cheek, and then bolted from the room, leaving Keith’s jacket on the couch behind him.
“Wha-Where are you going?!” Keith called after him, and Lance slowed at the doorway.
“My room.”
“Why?”
Lance grinned.
“To make your day!” and with that he was gone, sprinting down the hallways until his footsteps were silent.
Keith watched the door for a minute longer, then shrugged and went back to his coat. His thumb still throbbed from where it had been poked, so he made a point of avoiding the sharp end of the wire needle as he struggled to push it through all the way.
Why is my jacket so hard to mend!
He was about to start over from scratch when the couch dipped again, and suddenly there was Lance; face red from running but grin still intact. He held out his hands, revealing a small, travel-size sewing kit, complete with several legitimate needles and five colourful spools of thread.
Keith’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, and he stared up at Lance in awe.
“Where did you get this!”
Lance shrugged, as if the details were unimportant.
“I had it in my pocket the day we left.” He smiled, but Keith could tell that there was sadness lurking beneath the surface. He made a point of not asking further questions.
Not right now, anyways.
“You’re amazing,” he said instead, and made to grab the kit from Lance’s hands. But Lance pulled back, curling his fist around the small box and tittering at him.
“Nope, I want to fix it.”
Keith frowned, hands tightening their grip on his jacket as Lance made to take it.
“Why?” he asked, and Lance chuckled softly, curling his fingers over Keith’s fists and leaning forward.
“Because,” he whispered, “you’re my boyfriend, and I like doing things for you.” He titled his head closer, and Keith rose to meet him. The kiss was soft and tender, like the majority of Lance’s kisses.
But for some reason, Keith felt himself slip deeper into this one, like he was drowning and Lance was his air. His eyes shut tightly to fend off the feeling of tears as Lance’s hands wound into his hair, and all at once his heart was floating upwards, desperate to be closer to the boy.
They broke apart after a moment, and Keith let his eyes drop down to his jacket.
He was used to doing things on his own.
Used to fending for himself and taking on the world solo.
But that, he realized, had changed with Lance. Now he wasn’t alone. Someone was there to take care of him if he was sick, or angry, or just in need of a hug. And sure, Keith had had Shiro for a long time, and the others would always be there for him if and when he needed, but being with Lance was different.
Being with Lance made Keith realize that he could indulge in those foreign, unknown, homey feelings that he was so unused to.
Maybe I don't need to do everything by myself.
He relinquished his hold on the jacket, and Lance beamed as he slid it over onto his own lap.
“Thank you,” he murmured, and Keith shifted so he was pressed up against the boy's side. He watched as his boyfriend took the wire and cord from the coat, tossing them on the table next to Keith’s knife.
“Those would have worked, you know,” Keith said, sensing Lance was about to say something about his efforts. But again Lance only smiled.
“I know babe. You would have made it look perfect. But...I want to be the one to do this for you.” He paused, glancing over at Keith with a raised brow. “Is that ok?”
Keith nodded.
“Just don’t hurt my baby,” he instructed, resting his head on Lance’s shoulder and smiling as he heard Lance laugh quietly.
“Such a weirdo,” he mumbled, pulling out the red spool of thread and making to cut a piece. Keith reached out, stopping him and ignoring the look Lance gave him as he withdrew the blue spool instead.
“Use this one.”
Lance hesitated, eyeing Keith in disbelief as his fingers curled about the thread.
“Blue?” he asked as Keith settled back against him. “This won’t match, at all.”
“I know,” Keith said. “But I like that colour.”
Lance was silent as he considered, and then all at once he was tossing the blue one back in the box.
“Nope, sorry babe. I will not have you walking around in a red jacket with blue string. I wanna make it look like there was never a rip here to begin with, and blue would be a highlighter on the flaw.” He patted Keith’s head as he pouted. “So no. Red it is.”
“I don’t care if people can tell,” Keith grumbled, and then Lance was curling his finger beneath Keith’s chin and tilting it upwards, where he placed a quick peck to his lips.
“I know you don’t, but if I’m going to fix this for you, I’m going to do my best. They didn’t call me the Tailor for nothing-”
“That was for flying though, not sewing,” Keith interrupted, and Lance’s mouth fell open comically.
“You...when did you hear about that?”
Keith shrugged.
“Hunk...may have mentioned something.”
Lance grunted, turning his attention back to the jacket.
“Typical. You know, I can’t exactly ask Shiro about embarrassing things in your past. It’s unfair.”
Keith felt himself grinning into Lance’s shoulder, and wrapped his arms around the boy’s chest as he nuzzled closer.
“You could, but I have my own blackmail for him that would keep him quiet. Blackmail involving a certain white-haired alien.”
Lance hummed, knowing who it was Keith was referring to.
“Alright fine, I’ll just have to ask Matt. I’m sure he’s got lots of stories about you.”
Keith didn’t answer. He was still mourning the loss of the blue string as Lance threaded the red one and began sewing up the tear. His silence must have been noticeable, since Lance paused his efforts to glance down at him.
“How about I make you something else with the blue thread. Or, even better, next time we go to the space mall you can help me pick out some material to make whatever you want.”
Keith leaned back enough to stare up at his boyfriend, wondering if there was a colour in the universe that could match those eyes, and if it came in wool.
He nodded, feeling his smile grow.
“Deal. But I get to make you something as well, promise?”
Lance raised a brow as his grin grew crooked.
“Alright then Fireball. I want a red Snuggie.”
Keith had no idea what a Snuggie was, but he nodded nonetheless. And then, because Lance was overwhelming him with those foreign, unknown, homey feelings, he reached out and tossed the jacket to the floor.
“Hey, what are you-” Lance started, but broke off as Keith kissed him. He situated himself so that he was snug in Lance’s lap. fingers coming up to tangle in brown hair and grinning as their lips slid apart.
“Your jacket...” Lance breathed, face flushed and eyes wild. Keith smirked.
“Let’s fix it later.”
“Gee, well,” Lance chuckled, and leaned forward so their mouths were barely touching. “If you insist.”