[ both touches are comforting, almost necessary. lance leans into the hand at his cheek, his own falling quickly to curl lightly around the curve of keith's thigh as if to keep him there. he lets out a breath at the verbal validation, too, his relief clear in every syllable of it, but it is sadly short-lived, circumvented by the strangest thing he's ever heard. ]

You.

What?

[ suddenly the thanks is no longer important. he's leaning forward, trying to meet keith's eyes. ]

What are you talking about, you don't deser— Keith, I'd get you seven different ones if I could! One for every day of the week. Heck, I'd make them all if I knew a single thing about leathermaking! [ sadly, he's just a silly knitter... ]