Castiel wakes up to a pair of boxer briefs being flung over his head, and he blinks his eyes open, confused by the darkness of the soft cotton obstructing his vision. He hears some sort of low rumbling voice, and there are words, but he can barely make them out.

"Freakin' Sam, you'd think a little extra laundry wouldn't be so hard but no, 'do your own damn laundry' he says, selfish bitch –"

Castiel tugs the underwear off of his head and tosses it to the side, sitting up in the mess of sheets tangled around his legs. "Dean?"

The hunter straightens up immediately, spinning around on his heels to face his lover, wearing nothing but boxers, holding a pair of blood-stained jeans in one hand and a t-shirt with a rather questionable white substance all over it in the other (although both Castiel and Dean know exactly what it is). An easy smile graces his features as he replies, "Mornin', sunshine." It takes less than two steps for him to be at the edge of Castiel's side of the bed, hands planted on either side of the fallen angel's waist after dropping the dirty clothes to the floor, lips gently grazing a stubbled jaw and eyelashes leaving a trail of butterfly kisses on Castiel's cheek. "Sleep good?"

"Very... mmm... very well, thank you," Castiel replies, humming and tilting his head so that their lips brush together. He winds his hands around the back of Dean's neck and lies back down, pulling the hunter down with him, forcing Dean to climb onto the bed and straddle his waist. "And you?"

"Hmm?" Dean's already forgotten the question, distracted by the stretch of soft skin beneath Castiel's chin, stretched out before him, begging to be laved over with his tongue.

"How did you," – Castiel's breath hitches as Dean attacks his neck – "How did you sleep?"

"Coulda been better."


"Yeah," Dean breathes. "Coulda been doin' this." A hand snakes underneath the blankets and his fingers tease the waistband of Castiel's boxers briefly before slipping underneath, gently palming the already half-hard member between Castiel's legs. Castiel gasps and moans sweetly into Dean's shoulder as Dean kisses his forehead, whispering endearments and encouragements into his skin. "So gorgeous, Cas, so pretty for me... God, look at you... That feel good?"

"Yes," Castiel whimpers as Dean presses his thumb into the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head of his cock. "Yes, Dean."

"Yeah, baby, so good," Dean murmurs. The blanket covering Castiel from the waist down gets kicked down to the foot of the bed and Dean falls easily between the dark-haired man's legs, kissing over his chest, his stomach, his hips without once faltering in his rhythm pumping up and down Castiel's length.

"Dean," Castiel gasps, "Dean, please –"

"Tell me what you want," Dean demands. "Say it, Cas."

"Your mouth, please, I want – I want your mouth."

"You don't gotta tell me twice," Dean says with a smirk and then those plump lips are wrapped around the head of Castiel's cock, Castiel's back is arching off the bed, his thighs are being forced apart by Dean's hands and his own hands are buried in Dean's short hair, clawing at his shoulders, fisting in the bedsheets. It's only a few minutes before he's gasping, choking out a warning, "D-Dean, I'm gonna – Dean," and then he's spilling down Dean's throat, eyes screwed shut, something close to a scream tearing out of his throat.

When he opens his eyes again, Dean is there, hovering over his face, lips swollen and cheeks tinged pink. As soon as his breath settles to a more regular pace, he threads his fingers in the short hair at the back of Dean's neck and pulls him down for a lazy kiss.

"You," he pants between kisses, "are, so... good at that," he finishes.

"Ya think?" Dean chuckles. He looks down at the bits of cum that escaped his mouth, dribbled onto Castiel's boxers, smeared over their stomachs and sighs heavily. "Dude. We're out of clean clothes."

"Is that why you were ranting about laundry earlier?"

"I was not," Dean protests. "That was Sam's fault. Anyway, me and him are gonna go on a grocery run, and then I'll do some laundry when I get back. So just... sit tight in here, okay?"

"What are you going to wear?" Castiel points out.

"Probably dirty stuff. Should be fine. I mean, it's just the grocery store."

Castiel quirked an eyebrow. "We really have no clean clothes at all?"

"When's the last time you did laundry, huh?" He gets a playful poke in the chest before Dean rolls off the bed clumsily.

Castiel watches him scavenge for clothes thoughtfully for a moment. "I could do it."

"The shopping?" There's a twinge of hope in Dean's voice that almost makes Castiel laugh.

"No, the laundry," he clarifies.

"You have no idea how to work a washing machine, Cas." At the blue-eyed man's indignant pout, Dean leans over and kisses him sweetly. "Just stay in bed, relax, read. I'll make you breakfast in bed when I get back."

Castiel stays silent in favor of pulling the hunter down for another kiss, and then gives Dean a warm smile before burrowing back under the blankets, quickly falling asleep to the soft sound of Dean humming.

When Castiel wakes again, the Batcave is silent, Sam and Dean long gone on their grocery shopping adventure. They always take forever because they stock up for weeks at a time and constantly argue about the best kinds of cereal and beer and bacon and pizza. ("You have to eat something green every once in a while, Dean. It's not gonna kill you." "I am not letting any damn vegetables defile my pizza, thank you very much, Mr. Health Freak.")

After a moment of internal debate, Castiel throws the blankets to the side and swings his feet over the edge of the bed, standing up on the hardwood floor with chilled bare feet. He looks down at his ruined boxer-briefs in disdain and tugs them off, dropping them into a basket before setting out to collect all the other clothes strewn across the floor. He doesn't mind walking around naked; the only reason he wears clothes most of the time is just for the sake of Sam and Dean, who (unless the latter is engaging with him in sexual activities) always seem to be embarrassed when faced with his manhood. However, they are not here now, and so he takes the basket of dirty clothes down the hall to the laundry room, completely exposed, without a second thought.

Once he reaches the laundry room, he sets the basket down on top of one of the big white machines and surveys the various bottles lining the shelf over his head. Detergent... bleach... fabric softener... The instructions on each bottle say to add the liquid to the washer. Alright, well, one machine says "wash settings" and the other says "dry settings" so he's assuming he should start with the wash one. Easy enough. He dumps the contents of the basket into the belly of the machine and pulls down the first bottle – detergent. The instructions say to "add 23 cups". That leaves him with just a tiny bit left at the bottom of the previously full bottle, but Castiel knows that their clothes are exceptionally dirty with all the mud and blood, so he just adds what's left to be on the safe side. Then he pours in a small amount of fabric softener, deciding to lay off the bleach because it declares that it makes clothing "sparkling white" and he can't imagine that Dean would like to wear sparkles – or white, for that matter – very often.

Satisfied, he closes the lid of the washing machine and sets the dial to "heavy wash" – again, getting all that grit out is going to take some real power. Soon the washer is running and with an accomplished smile on his face, Castiel returns to bed.

It's not too long before Dean and Sam return from grocery shopping, weighed down with a myriad of plastic bags containing everything from shaving cream to oranges. Dean takes one step across the threshold before he hears the screams echoing down the hallway over a strange rumbling sound – and then beer bottles are rolling over the ground, packages of toilet paper spilling across the floor, and Dean is sprinting toward the source of the commotion, gun already cocked in his hand.

The smell of laundry detergent hits him hard before he even rounds the corner and skids to a stop, a mountain of bubbles pouring out from – well, presumably the laundry room, but the bubbles are literally so thick that Dean can't even see through them. He's still frozen, trying to process what he's seeing, before he hears another helpless shout coming from somewhere behind the wall of suds, and then he's moving forward again, clearing a path for himself with flailing arms, calling out frantically, "Cas? Cas?"

"Dean," the small, fearful voice yells back. "Dean, I'm here!"

The hunter's hand makes contact with the wall and he uses it to guide himself down the hallway, feeling for the door frame of the laundry room, and when he hits it he turns and rushes in, swatting at soap suds.

"Cas? Where are you?"

"I'm here," Castiel whimpers. He had been cowering in the corner, but at the sound of his lover's voice, he surges forward, straight into his arms. Dean bats the bubbles out from in front of their faces, and there he is.

"Cas, what the hell happened?" he asks, crushing Castiel into his arms.

"I was doing the laundry," Castiel practically sobs into his chest, clutching at Dean tightly. "The bubbles, they won't stop, Dean, they won't stop!"

Dean pulls back and cups Castiel's face in his hands, looking him over worriedly. His blue eyes are round and wide with fear, his face is flushed, his dark hair is sticking out in all directions, and he is wearing... absolutely nothing. Castiel is actually standing there, surrounded by bubbles, butt naked. It's that final realization, along with the look of pure terror on Castiel's face, that causes Dean to burst out laughing.

Castiel just stands there, terrified and confused as the hunter doubles over.

"Cas, you –" Dean wheezes between bouts of hysterical laughter, "– what did you do? How much soap did you put in that thing?"

"The instructions said 23 cups, and I thought that –" Castiel stops mid-sentence, frowning at Dean, who has only started laughing harder.

"Two-thirds, Cas, not 23!" Dean cackles, wiping tears from his eyes. He waves his arms around. "Look at this!"

"Are you angry?" Castiel asks quietly, averting his gaze.

Dean tries to sober up for a moment, standing up straight and pulling Castiel into another hug. "Of course not," he chuckles. "This is awesome. You're awesome. Can you imagine how clean this whole place is gonna be?"

And then Castiel gets the joke, begins to laugh too, wraps his arms around Dean's neck and buries his face in his chest and just laughs until they're both on the floor, tangled up together, stirring up the soap suds around them.

"Sam will never find us now," Dean says, clutching at his aching sides, gazing up affectionately at Castiel, who is lying on top of him, straddling his hips. "He's probably lost in here somewhere. Good thing, too, considering you're in your birthday suit." At this, he starts up laughing again, and the vibrations through his chest go straight to Castiel's groin.

The dark-haired man looks around and then back down at his lover, a mischievous glint in his eye, before swooping down for a heated kiss, feeling Dean's smile melt away into a slack-jawed pleasure. "That means we have plenty of time for me to return the favor you did me this morning," he whispers, softly catching Dean's earlobe in his teeth.

Then they're both naked, laying on the floor of the laundry room, making love in their own private little pocket of air, surrounded by a world of bubbles. And they decide that every once in a while, they'll buy a new bottle of laundry detergent, and Castiel will get to do the laundry again, because they had too much fun with it the first time to make it the last.