Shiro was doing dishes in the sink when Lance flounced in fresh from the shower, leaving small puddles of water wherever he stepped. Shiro raised an eyebrow - Lance /was/ wearing a towel, but only on his head, his damp brown skin shimmering in the overhead light.
(more) "Put on pants," Shiro said with only a hint of regret, shamelessly watching Lance's ass as he rooted through the fridge. "Keith's here."
Lance looked up, holding a carton of milk in one hand, and then he straightened and surveyed their small living area. "What?"
"He's outside," Shiro took the milk as Lance wiggled past him again, this time making for the front window. "Pants, Lance."
Lance peered through the old curtains, hand on his hip. "He's got that /hunter/ with him again," he scoffed, as if Shiro hadn't noticed the man riding shotgun with Keith. "Whatever happened with Allura, I liked her." He wrinkled his nose as he watched the two men unload the old truck. "I don't like hunters."
"You were scared shitless of Allura," Shiro called, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "And he's not a hunter, not really. You know that." He passed Lance, unmoving at the window, and fetched him the pants he clearly had no intention of getting for himself. "Keith needs this, and you know it."
Lance sighed dramatically and finally acquiesced to the burden of clothing for Shiro's sake. "/You're/ always naked around Keith," he muttered. "Don't see what the big deal is."
"Yeah, and you don't like it one bit either." Shiro took the towel from Lance's head, who gave off an undignified squawk as Shiro kissed the top of his damp head. "Keith and I are gonna hunt up dinner," he said. "Be good. Don't scare off James."