Well, I started writing it so we'll see. Excerpt below!
"I spilled a cup of tea on my bedspread," Cas said.
“Since when are you drinkin’ tea?”
“I’ve become accustomed to the taste, but I believe I enjoy the ritual of making it more than anything,” Cas said. “Will you launder my bedspread?”
“You don’t sleep,” Dean said, as if Cas may have forgotten.
“No… But I do sit on the bed. I even lie down occasionally. The tea stain is unsightly.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “You are the person who provided me with a bed and bed linens.”
“And you can’t do laundry because...?”
“I dislike doing laundry.” Cas pursed his lips, refusing to elaborate.
The truth was that Cas didn’t dislike doing his own laundry as much as he liked watching Dean do his laundry. This had come up a few times recently when, after a particularly messy hunt, Dean had offered to launder Cas’s clothes instead of letting him spend his waning grace on cleaning them himself. Cas had twice watched Dean gently handwash his coat and then iron it once it was dry. He had experienced a specific and highly pleasant feeling watching him do it, not just because Dean was doing him a favor without complaint, but because of how carefully Dean had treated the trenchcoat in particular: as well as he treated his car, Cas had thought.
“Alright fine, prima donna,” Dean muttered, and got to his feet. “I better get to it before the stain sets, I guess.”
“Use the unscented detergent,” Cas said. “The scented is cloying.”
“Right right.”
“And put it on my bed while it’s still warm from the dryer,” Cas said.
Dean bumped Cas’s shoulder with his own on his way out, a playful little jostle, and murmured, “Didn’t even say please.”
Dean spun on his heel in the doorway and braced his hands on the jamb, raising his eyebrows, expectant. “Hmm?”
Instead of saying ‘please,’ Cas fixed Dean with a determined gaze and said, “I appreciate everything you do for me. Very much.”
Cas saw Dean absorbing the words, and that felt good too. Dean inhaled as if that might be part of it, that he needed to breathe such comments in, and his gaze dropped as his cheeks turned attractively pink. Dean cleared his throat and stood straight, scratching the back of his neck.
“Sure. I mean, whatever. No problem. I’ll just get on that.” Dean nodded and muttered to himself, “The bedspread. The spread of your bed.”
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