Dirty Laundry by Gibslythe

Day 2 Ch. 8

After about a full minute of staring at the raw chicken, Keith realized that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing.

Why did he think this was a good idea? He'd never really cooked before. Well, some of his foster parents had taught him a few things, like how to use measuring cups and the difference between tablespoons and teaspoons. But everything else? Keith had no idea.

Benji must've noticed that he was at a loss, because he stopped peeling the corn husk. "Keith?" He questioned. "You need help?"

"Uh-"

Benji didn't let Keith finish, instead yelling across the house; "LANCE! Your boyfriend can't cook!"

Somehow, Lance had managed to appear in the kitchen within record time. "So-" Lance declared, his face triumphant. "I've finally found something that the great Keith Gyeong cannot do."

Keith rolled his eyes. "Please don't be immature about this. "

Lance giggled. "Oh, hell yeah I will. You, the boy with the straight A's can't cook. I'm never letting this go, I'm gonna rub it in all the way until you-"

"Shut up," Keith murmured, pressing his palm against Lance's mouth to promptly end his taunting. "Just teach me how to prepare this chicken before I slap you."

Lance chuckled and moved Keith's hand away from his face, instead leading it towards the sink. "First, wash your hands. We don't want Keith cooties in our dinner."

"I already washed my hands, this is just-"

"Wash them!"

Sighing, Keith did as he was told. He moved his hands under the running water of the sink, rubbing soap suds across his skin.

"Now," Lance continued, pointing at the large knife. "Cut the chicken my young padawan."

Trying his hardest not to make a sly remark, Keith grabbed the knife and moved in front of the cutting board, cautiously cutting the raw meat in thin, uneven strips.

"Like this?"

Lance shook his head. "You're terrible, no, here-" He moved behind Keith, reaching his arms around to grab Keith's wrists. Moving their right hands in alignment, Lance slowly moved Keith's hand to cut the chicken. It was a strange (and rather awkward) experience, especially with Lance's breath tickling the hairs at Keith's neck. Keith felt himself blush, every brush of skin on skin sending electricity down his spine.

"You have to cut them thicker and with even strokes."

Keith protested. "But I was!"

"No, you weren't! Yours look like little string cheese hybrids!"

Keith scowled and turned in Lance's arms, the awkwardness momentarily forgotten. "Um, no! I cut my chicken like chicken strips! That has chicken in the name!"

"Do you guys always fight like a married couple?" Benji called from the kitchen table.

Keith and Lance turned to look at Benji at the same time, both of them now reminded that they had an audience. A blush crept across Keith's cheeks, and he suddenly remembered the arms around his hips.

Lance swallowed. "Um...no?" "Yes, we do. It's just how healthy relationships go." Keith glared at Lance violently, a threat in his eyes that screamed; 'Agree with me!'

"OH!" Lance's eyes widened. "Oh, oh yeah. Yeah, okay, fighting." Lance shifted into gear. "Fighting is healthy, we do fighting. Lots of fighting. Intense fighting, fighting with our mouths, fighting over clothes, fighting in bed, fighting in the shower-"