Back during those precious few minutes of his return to Earth, Lance was the first person who didn’t flinch at the sight of his arm. He was the first person who reached out and shook his offered hand and didn’t cower at the sight of him as the other prisoners, whom he’d spent the past year of his life with, had. They feared him because they knew what he was capable of, they’d witnessed his exploits in the ring as the ‘Champion’, so favoured by the Galra he was given the gift of an unbeatable weapon.
Lance hadn’t known any of that then, so he shook Shiro’s hand without any hesitation, but then he was dragged back into space, pulling four innocent bystanders along with him, and Lance saw everything. He saw what the arm was capable of, what Shiro was capable of.
And yet Lance loves him. At least he says he does, and he hasn’t left him yet even if he does refuse to touch his right hand, so really Shiro should count his blessings. Sure, when they first started dating Lance would always hold his hand, and didn’t seem to mind which hand he grabbed at first. But every time he held his prosthesis, Lance would shudder, and he would pull his hand away sooner than he would have had he been holding Shiro's left hand. Now, even if Shiro offers Lance his right hand, Lance will distract him, dance around and grab his left in a way that looks completely normal and unintentional.
But Shiro knows.
He looks at his black fingers melding into a silver palm. Apart from the unnatural colours, when it’s not activated and glowing purple, it looks pretty unremarkable. There’s no hint to what it can truly do, and it’s not as if it feels that different. The metal palm may be hard, but his fingers are soft and dexterous, and he’s always been careful to adjust his grip with his prosthesis, so he doesn't squeeze too hard (the hand has too much power. He doesn't think he's ever done something like accidentally hurt Lance.
Has he?
Shiro wiggles his fingers, and from the corner of his eye, he sees Lance flop down on the sofa next to him. On his left. There’s enough room either side of him, but Lance, of course, chooses to sit on his left.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Shiro doesn’t answer and just wiggles his fingers again. He shouldn’t let it get to him, he should be happy that Lance loves him despite the arm, even if he refuses to touch it, but-
Lance’s reaches for his hand, his left, and he laces their fingers together drawing Shiro’s hand towards him. “Shiro, you can tell me.”
Lance knows that’s something is wrong, and he’s worried. He cares. It shows in everything he says and does so how can Shiro possible complain about one little thing and risk making him feel bad?
“It’s nothing.”
Lance frowns. He isn’t buying it.
“Shiro.” He tugs Shiro’s hand and leans closer to him
Shiro tries to lean away. He almost wants to pull his hand free from Lance’s grip but he can’t. That would be too suspicious.
“Babe.”
Shiro feels trapped. There’s no escape. “Fine. Why won’t you hold my hand?”
Lance blinks at him slowly. “But I am holding your hand.”
“Not that hand, this hand,” Shiro brandishes his prosthesis towards Lance. Lance leans back a little, staring, his eyes wide. It takes him a moment to recover, and all he can do is focus on Shiro’s prosthetic hand, eyes wavering.
“Shiro, why didn’t you tell me this was bothering you?” Lance looks pained, guilty, and it’s precisely the thing Shiro wanted to avoid.
“I just...forget it, it’s stupid.” Shiro drops his hand back to his side, tucking the prosthesis against his thigh, away from Lance.
“It’s not stupid.” Lance lets go of Shiro’s left hand and reaches across him, snatching Shiro’s right hand before he can properly tuck it away. He tries, but Lance can’t quite suppress the shudder that goes through him.
“Do you think I’ve been avoiding touching your hand because it’s a prosthetic or something?” He asks gently, his fingers lacing with Shiro black digits, his palm pressing against the silver plate of Shiro’s.
“I don’t know,” Shiro answers in a small voice. He can’t look at Lance because that is exactly what he’s been thinking, and he doesn’t want to admit it. Lance may act the fool, but he’s far more perceptive than people give him credit for. Too much so sometimes.
“Shiro, it has nothing to do with that. It’s just your hand is really cold.”
“Cold?” Shiro lifts his head. Of all the reasons he’d considered, that thought had never crossed his mind.
“Yeah, and you know how much I hate the cold. As soon as the temperature drops even one degree I need to put like five more layers on. If I hold your right hand for too long, my fingers go numb.”
It’s true. Shiro remembers the ice plant they visited and how Lance shivered even when the planet's inhabitants gave him two thick fur capes to wear.
“I never noticed.”
“Of course you didn’t. You’d be ok walking around in the snow in shorts and a t-shirt,” Lance rolls his eyes.
“What about when we make love?”
Lance flushes a bright scarlet and looks away. “Well, that’s different. Your cold hand against my hot skin feels really good then,” he squirms, and even though Shiro didn’t think it was possible, he goes even redder.
Shiro lets out a breath in a huff of laughter. “I’m such an idiot. Sorry.”
“Hey, why are you apologising?”
“For thinking that you would avoid holding my hand because of what it is.”
“Hey.” Lance squeezes his hand and leans forward, bumping his head against Shiro’s. “I’m the one who never said anything, and I never said anything because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, but I didn’t notice it was bothering you, so I’m the one who needs to apologise.”
“You don’t- wait what surprise?”
Lance lets out a long sigh and groans, tilting his head back. “Well, I guess it’s almost ready, so I may as well show you now.”
Lance jumps to his feet, and he’s still holding Shiro’s hand. His right. He smiles, tugs on Shiro's hand, and Shiro rises from the sofa to follow him.
“You know, you can let go. If it’s too cold.”
“Nope. Even if my hand freezes around yours and I end up holding your hand forever, I’m not letting go!”
Shiro laughs, and Lance leads him through the winding hallways to their room. He doesn’t let go of Shiro’s hand once.
“Ok, close your eyes.” Lance orders when they’re in the room and Shiro does as he’s told. He feels a brush of lips and hot breath against the back of his hand (his prosthesis is surprisingly sensitive, he can feel everything) before Lance lets go. He hears a shuffle of footsteps, then rummaging. It sounds like Lance is digging something out from under the bed. There’s a bump, a muttered curse, and Shiro dutifully keeps his eyes closed tight.
“You can open them now.”
Lance is holding a box, his gaze cast down to the side. He looks nervous and a little embarrassed. Shiro looks into the box and studies its contents. Gloves, several of them. Many are black, made of different materials, some wool, some thick heavy fabric, others thinner and more decorative. There are several with different patterns, one pair that looks purple, another in varying shades of grey, and various others.
“I figured if you wore gloves, at least on your right hand, then I wouldn’t be able to feel the cold and I can hold either hand. I didn’t want to just give you one glove just in case you didn’t like it or something, and I didn’t want you to feel obligated to wear it, so I’ve been working on making a selection for you, so you can just not wear the ones you don’t like, or you can just not wear any of them at all I mean-”
Lance is rambling, and he’ll go on for ages if Shiro doesn’t do something. He reaches into the box and pulls out a glove. It’s made of soft blue wool with the words ‘Lance’s No. 1 Fan’ woven in with a darker blue. “I like this one.”
The box drops to the floor, along with Lance’s jaw. “You weren’t supposed to see that one!” He yelps and he tries to snatch the glove away, but Shiro holds it out of his reach.
“Why not? Is there someone else who claims to be your number one fan? Because if there is I may have to have words.”
“No, of course not. Please give it back.”
Shiro puts the glove on his right hand instead. The words stretch over the back of his hand standing out proudly.
Lance’s arms drop to his sides, and he huffs (pouts). “You’re embarrassing,” he grumbles.
Shiro laughs and cups Lance’s cheek with his gloved hand. “So are you,” he grins before kissing Lance.
