Dirty Laundry *Klance book*

Day 7

Day 7

Thursday, December 22nd

6:30 A.M.

If Keith had learned anything about Lance in the past two years, it was that the Sanchez boy hated cleaning. Actually, no, hate wasn't strong enough a word. Lance despised cleaning. The thought of doing so made him whine, cry, and pout like a child. However, it was his strong, fiery, burning detestation of cleaning that made him such an efficient one.

First of all, he'd been raised by Rosa Sanchez. And if anyone knew Rosa Sanchez, it was that her house only ever had two versions: clean as heaven or messy as hell. Therefore, when Rosa finally deemed their messy house fit for a cleaning, she brought out the broom, the mops, the buckets and the dusters. It was always then that the Sanchez children knew it was time to suck up their complaints and get to work. Like the other children, Lance was always obedient and always cleaned when told to do so, as that was something he'd grown up learning. He cleaned well and efficient , even if he loathed the idea.

However, just because he obeyed Rosa's cleaning rule didn't mean he'd enjoy the process. He'd continue to bicker and complain, all while scrubbing the floor so ferociously that it shined brighter than a temple. He'd whine while washing at a dirty pot until it was brand new. He knew how to sort laundry efficiently, he knew the tricks to folding a bed sheet, he knew how to remove grape juice stains from clothes, and he knew the perfect way to wash a window. Lance was something of an unintentional home economics professional, even if he abhorred it to the ends of the earth.

Benji wasn't much better, and Josie had the nasty habit of learning from her brothers' examples. While it was true everyone cleaned, it was Josie, Benji and Lance who were yelled at the most during the cleaning hours, usually for making smart comments or complaining under their breath.

Rosa had woken the entire house at 6:30 a.m. that day, marching into each of her children's bedrooms with great intent. She was woman on a mission, and she intended to fulfill said mission if it was the last thing she ever did.

She'd flung open the door to Lance and Keith's room furiously, letting the hard wood smack against the door stop. She was already showered, dressed, and adorned with a light shade of makeup.

"Wake up!" She bellowed loudly after switching the light on, taking three long strides to the bed covered in blankets, pillows, and two young adult males.

Now, it was moments like this when Keith and Lance were grateful they slept together every night. And it wasn't because they wanted to lay in a bed next to each other (which they most certainly did, but that's not important). It was because when a family member entered the room, like Rosa had just done, said family member would see them cuddling and it would look natural. Because, as most people know, couples cuddle all the time in bed. Especially if one was shirtless.

Lance had the habit of sleeping half naked, which amazed Keith. Why? Keith knew Lance was insecure about the large scar across his abdomen. Lance had told him once that letting people see the scar made him anxious. Even though that made sense, what Keith couldn't comprehend was why he, why Keith, was allowed to see such a thing. He'd already touched the damn thing. He'd let his fingers trace it when they made out in the arcade, he saw it every morning when Lance came back from a shower in a towel, he saw it every night when they went to bed.

Why was Keith so lucky? Why did he have the privilege of being present to one of Lance's strongest insecurities?

Despite his confusion, Keith wasn't really complaining. Sleeping against Lance's bare skin made Keith warmer with the extra body heat, and there were several times in the night when Keith felt his fingers brush against Lance's soft belly, or chest, or even collarbone. Each touch of the skin was electricity, and often Keith slept better in the night because of it.