An airplane prompt for you: Shiro and Keith, kitchen disaster! (Canonverse or Star Wars AU, your choice.)
I found this in my drafts folder from a few weeks back :) enjoy!
“Look,” Keith says, finally, on one of their rare layovers from mission to temple. They’ve been back in their apartment for all of three hours, and as usual, the inevitable argument has begun. “I don’t care if it’s the only thing we have in the ‘freezer. I don’t care that neither of us want to go out again to get something more edible - I see you asleep on the couch over there, Shirogane, don’t think I don’t.”
“I’m not asleep,” Shiro protests, waving a hand over the back of the couch. The way he’s completely sprawled boneless on their one piece of living room furniture nearly long enough to house his lanky form completely betrays him. “I’m listening. You were agreeing with me.”
“I was not,” Keith says vehemently, slamming the door of the upper freezer unit shut and ripping open the bottom door to the conservator. An empty set of shelves stares back at him, just as sparse as they were thirty seconds ago, save for the moldy onion sitting lonely on the back shelf. “We’re not eating m’croni for dinner again. I don’t care if it’s the only thing here. I’m not doing it.”
“Can’t hear you, your head’s in the conservator,” Shiro says, congenially. “Was that a yes?”
Keith pulls his head free and glares at the couch, shoving just slightly with the Force. Shiro yelps as the Force tosses a pillow at him, whapping him soundly on the shoulder. “Hey!”
“Hey yourself,” Keith responds, closing the conservator door. He crosses over to the back of the couch, arms folded, glaring down. Shiro blinks sleepily up at him, innocent and entirely too demure. “Nope. You don’t get to pull that. I’m not figuring out what we’re eating while you pretend to sleep, you lump, get up.”
“I’m not sleeping,” Shiro protests, but levers himself up to a sitting position. “I had an idea. You didn’t like it.”
“Yep,” Keith says levelly, leaning over the back of the couch. “I’m not eating that stuff. And I’m not going out.”
Shiro blinks, a frown. “Well, I’m not going out. Let’s just have caf for dinner, there’s plenty.”
Keith calls on the Force again. This time Shiro ducks the pillow, by way of rolling completely off the couch. “Keith!”
“I’m not living on caf,” Keith says, evenly. “If I went out and got stuff, would you come with me?”
“Depends,” Shiro says, popping back up. He turns the pillow over thoughtfully in his hands. “What kind of stuff?”
Keith contemplates. The mess hall’s downstairs, sure, but it’s full of other Jedi at this hour, and the thought of socializing after what he and Shiro just got home from isn’t exactly appealing.
“Stuff,” he suggests at last. “Food….stuff. You know.”
Shiro raises one eyebrow. Keith raises an eyebrow of his own straight back.
“If we’re cooking,” Shiro says, slowly, “We also need to get a new pan. Last time someone burned through all three of mine.”
“That was your fault,” Keith quips, automatically, “And fine.”
“So we are cooking,” Shiro groans.
“You aren’t,” Keith says, “The maintenance droids forbade you.”
“You were a part of that agreement too,” Shiro reminds him, but he’s already reaching for his outer robe. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Nope, the droids like me,” Keith says, with more confidence than he feels. “It’ll be fine.”
One newly-purchased-and-newly-burnt pan, lots of screaming, the deployment of a completely brand-new sprinkler system that sprays blue foam over the ensuing fire as well as both of them, everything on the counter, and four irate maintenance droids later, Keith is forced to re-evaluate his opinion.
“Okay, fine,” Keith says, after the last fuming maintenance droid has left the two Jedi to clean up all that foam on their own, “Take your stupid bad feeling somewhere else. Stop laughing.”
“I’ll put it with the m’caroni in the reheater,” Shiro says, smugly, and pulls out their dinner from the freezer.